In Darkness Let Me Dwell
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Bobby calls Sam and Dean for help hunting a demon that demands human life. When Dean becomes a victim, Sam struggles to save his injured brother before Dean is lost forever. Hurt!Dean. Angsty protective Sam. Not death fic NOW COMPLETE
1. Pale Ghosts and Frightful Shades

_A/N: I was tempted to wait on this one for my one year anniversary, but since my anniversary fics are all one-shots (or two chapters posted at once), I think I will keep to tradition. I would like to thank everyone who has read this and encouraged me to post. And so this one begins. I'll __**warn**__ you now, this one is __**dark**__, even for me. Sometimes things happen that have the potential to destroy us, some people become victims, others survivors. _

_**WARNING**__: This story contains disturbing images and references to drug use (forced), human sacrifice and torture. I promise you now, it is __**not death fic. **_

_A/N II: I'm playing with mythology again and mixing it up, I mean no offense. Title and chapter quotes are from John Dowland's "Funeral Teares."_

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Prologue**

_**Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be**_

The house sat on the end of a dead end road. It looked normal—yellow with white trim, a small flower garden out front, a white fence backed by peonies and roses. A four-door sedan was parked in the driveway. From somewhere down the block Sam could hear children's voices raised in playful laughter. There were little things that seemed out of place, the windows were dark, nothing was moving on the property but over all it didn't seem out of place, everything seemed right, normal—perfectly normal.

Except for the smell.

The smell of death rippled and flowed around Sam as he stood in front of the house. It filled the air like a physical presence, announcing that for all the apparent normality, something was wrong—something terrible, something so horrific that it was impossible to describe.

"Ready?" CJ asked.

Sam looked down at the small woman. "No."

"I know, I never am either." She handed him a surgical mask before putting one on herself.

"Thanks." Sam put the mask on and took a deep breath, the scent of eucalyptus and lavender filled his lungs. With another breath, he opened the gate and walked to the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the team moving in as well. Sam tried the door, it wasn't locked. _They never are by the time we get here._ He opened the door and the stench hit him like a physical blow. He paused for a moment, letting his gag reflex settle down before stepping into the house.

There were two rooms off the entryway. Sam headed to the right, knowing what he would find, but needing to check anyway. The remnants of the altar stood against the back wall, flies gathered so thickly on the remains that it looked like the altar and floor were moving. The buzzing was palpable, the audible aspect of the overwhelming smell. Sam walked to the altar, flies filling the air like a black cloud. Without pausing, he shoved the altar over and watched with satisfaction as it shattered.

"Sam?" CJ called.

"Coming." Sam walked out of the room and across the entryway. CJ was standing in the room what they'd come to call the antechamber. The remains of sacrifices piled against the wall like slowly melting timber. CJ was standing by one body, a young man, unlike the others his chest was still intact, the gaping hole marking the others missing from his body, only a single wound at the base of his sternum, congealed blood flecking the white skin.

"He died before it was finished with him, and recently, too," Sam said dispassionately. "What's the mix? You checked yet?"

"I was just starting when I found this one. Is the altar…?"

"Destroyed." Sam walked over to the pile of bodies. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he started turning them over. Most bore the tell-tale signs of sacrifice, the chest had been split open with a sharp blade and the heart removed. "I've got five," Sam said, counting the bodies with their chests ripped open from the inside, ribcage fanned out like a gruesome flower.

"Three more here, and another that died before it was finished," CJ said, walking to Sam.

"Two that died before it was over? Odd, I wonder what's happened? It's using them faster." Sam looked around the room. "Oldest of these is what? Three weeks?"

"Yeah."

"They're moving more often, too." Sam looked at her. "Trying to stay ahead of us," he said, his voice loud in the quiet room. She nodded and they turned to leave the room. Sam cast a final glance at the bodies before following CJ down the hall towards the back of the house. The kitchen was empty, a jade bowl lay smashed on the floor. _They didn't take it this time. We surprised them. _He opened the back door and looked into the yard—it was empty, nothing moving except a single wasp buzzing against the side of the house. _Usually there are more bees. _Sam carefully closed the door and moved on through the house.

"I found more," CJ's voice came out of the room on Sam's left.

Sam walked into the medium sized room. It was behind the room where he had destroyed the altar. The corpses were older here, Sam guessed nearly a week older than the ones in the antechamber. He turned one over and another. "Sacrifices. All of them," he said to CJ.

"We've got a live one," Dirk's shout echoed down the hallway.

Sam looked up from the last half rotten body. With a quick glance at CJ he turned and ran down the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs to the basement. "Dirk?"

"Down here, Sam."

Sam stepped quickly down the stairs, he could see Ronny waiting outside a room at the end of a long hallway. The young man looked up as Sam approached, his eyes haunted, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. Sam gave Ronny's shoulder a squeeze before turning to the door, he stopped, his foot on the threshold. Dirk was standing halfway across the room, a blanket in his hand. Sam walked slowly in.

The room was filthy. A crumpled blanket lay on the floor. Only a tiny ray of light filtered into the room from a slit in a boarded over window. The room stank. Sam saw a body near the door_, _a piece of metal protruding from its chest. The room was filled with the sick-sweet smell of rotting flesh—stronger here than anywhere else but the corpse filled rooms on the main floor. There was also an acrid stench that hung in the room. But worse, far worse, the room smelled of fear, of hopelessness, of the loss of all humanity.

When Sam reached Dirk, he noticed a figure, half naked, huddled in the corner. The figure, a man, was curled in on himself, as small as he could be, longish hair matted against his skull. Sam could see a beard where the arms covering the head failed to completely conceal the face. He'd been starved, each bone defined against skin that seemed too tight to hold them. The man was covered in the wounds Sam had come to recognize so well over the last months. Tracks of the needle were visible on one arm. Some wounds were infected, some still bloody on the naked back. Though he couldn't see it, Sam knew there would be a single wound below the sternum, the mark of a host. Sam could see the edge of a partially cured slash on one wrist. _Sometimes I think Dirk is right, it would be better if none of them lived. How many more will there be? How many more will we find? _

"You handle these creatures so much better than I do," Dirk said, almost a whisper. The man tried to curl in on himself more, hiding from the sound of voices. "How many more? Jesus, this makes me sick."

"Me, too, Dirk," he said softly. Sam stripped the gloves off his hands and pulled the mask off his face and handed it to Dirk.

"Don't know how you can stand the stink without the mask."

"They need human contact. They need to know we aren't the others," Sam said, keeping his voice quiet.

"It doesn't make any difference, Sam. Contact or not, he's not human anymore." Dirk rested a hand on Sam's back. "They need help, I know that, Sam. I do. It's just… Well… Sometimes I think it would be better to just put a bullet in them now, and end this horror before it's too late."

"I know. I do too, sometimes," Sam said.

Dirk held the blanket out. Sam looked at him for a long moment before taking the blanket and walking over to where the man was crouched against the wall. "My name is Sam. I'm here to help," Sam said gently, pitching his voice low, talking to the man as if he were a terrified animal. _Which is all he is now. _Sam reached out to put the blanket over the man's shoulders, wincing as the man reacted in pain, pulling away from the touch of the fabric. Sam pulled the blanket away and held it behind the man's back, letting him get used to its presence. "It's okay, we're here to get you out of here." He put the blanket back over the thin shoulders.

Moving slowly, Sam squatted down in front of the man, speaking in a soft sing-song, still keeping his voice calm, a hard lesson he'd learned these last weeks. He reached a cautious hand out, the man pulled away from the contact. Sam persisted, gently trying to get the man to look at him. He finally lifted the face up enough to look into the man's eyes. The look he knew so well—feral, terrified, lost. There was no spark of humanity, empty eyes looking out of a human shell. There was nothing—nothing left to mark the man as ever having been a human being, no recognition of anything but pain, terror and never ending torture.

Sam's heart stopped.

_Oh my god. _

"Dean?"

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. The Dead Alive Presenting

_A/N: For those of you who have asked, or are wondering. No, this is not set after Dean returns from hell. The story is set Season Two. Warnings as before._

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter One**

_**The dead alive presenting**_

The room was dark, the smell eddying around Sam like the flood waters of a filthy river. He could hear the rest of the team as they moved through the house, destroying anything they found. Dirk was prowling around the room, out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dirk squat down by the body. Most of Sam's attention, however, was focused on the man before him, on the remains of his brother. He still had Dean's chin cupped in his hands. Dean didn't meet his eyes—he doubted if Dean actually saw him at all.

"Dean?" he whispered, hoping to reach his brother, knowing there was no hope. _Maybe, maybe there is, maybe he…he…he didn't get used that way. _"Dean?" No response.

"You ready for a stretcher?" Someone shouted from upstairs.

"Sam?" Dirk said. Sam turned his head, the man was frowning at him. "What's going on?"

"You ready?" The shout drifted down to them again.

"Hang on!" Dirk roared.

Dean reacted to the shout, skittering away from Sam and pressing himself into the corner, arms wrapped tightly over his head, whimpering like a terrified animal. Sam stood and walked to Dirk. "You know damn well not to shout around them. What the hell are you thinking?"

"Just take care of it, Sam, he's not going to respond, he's an animal now," Dirk's voice was harsh, but his eyes reflected concern for Sam. That didn't stop Sam from reacting. He grabbed Dirk and pushed him against the wall.

"He's not an animal," Sam growled, keeping his voice low and watching fear glimmer into existence in Dirk's eyes. Sam let him go. "Sorry."

"You still grieve for every one of them, Sam." Dirk shook his head. "Let me take care of this one." He moved towards Dean.

Sam stopped him. "No, not this one." Sam walked back to Dean and crouched down, his brother pressed himself into an even smaller ball. Sam could see where a sharp piece of wood was cutting into Dean's forehead, a small trickle of blood running down his brother's face. "It's okay," Sam said, speaking in a soft sing-song. "It's okay, we won't hurt you." Sam reached out to his brother, Dean saw the movement and whimpered. Sam could see tears running down Dean's cheek. "It's okay, we're going to take you away from here."

Sam pulled his hand away, realizing it was distressing Dean even more. With a sigh, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He held it out so Dean could see it. _Please, please don't let him respond to this, please. _Sam bit back a sob when Dean slowly unwound an arm and held it out to him. Sam took the proffered arm, swabbed it quickly and slid the needle in with the ease born of too much practice. He looked at Dean as he did, his brother's eyes were fixed on the needle, watching as Sam depressed the plunger. Dean started relaxing, his eyes still fixed on the needle. Sam pulled it out of his brother's arm as Dean's eyes closed. Sam caught him as he toppled, and pulled him into his arms, desperately fighting back tears. He laid his cheek on the top of Dean's head, gently rocking the lax body.

"Sam?" Dirk said softly. "What's going on?"

"It's Dean," Sam answered, his voice breaking.

"Dean?" Dirk asked. "Your brother Dean? No, it can't be! Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Oh my god. Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Me too." Sam slipped an arm under Dean's knees and stood. His brother was feather-light in his arms. Sam clenched his teeth, forcing the emotion away. He carried Dean out the door, Ronny turned and trailed after him, as Sam walked up the stairs.

"Sam?" CJ asked as he stepped into the hall.

"It's Dean." Sam walked to where the paramedics were waiting. He gently laid Dean on the stretcher, deliberately looking away for a moment. When the paramedic started to pull a blanket up, Sam stopped him.

"Let me, Sam," CJ said gently.

"No, CJ. I know the wounds better than anyone, I need to check." Sam looked down at Dean, hoping he wouldn't see it, knowing he would. And it was there—the wound at the base of the sternum. Sam pulled on a latex glove and gently probed the wound. "At least three entries, maybe more." Sam said, he heard his voice: tight, controlled, almost emotionless--the way it had been for so long, until this moment. "I'll check closer once he's at the clinic."

"You go, Sam, let us finish here." CJ laid her hand on his arm. Sam opened his mouth. "No, Sam, I'm overruling you on this one, you go with your brother."

"Thank you," Sam said quietly and followed the stretcher out of the house. As he walked, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket with a badly shaking hand.

"Sam?" Bobby answered on the second ring.

"I found Dean."

"Alive?" Bobby's voice was rough.

"Yes…" Sam stepped into the ambulance, the door slammed closed behind him, a moment later the vehicle lurched into motion.

"Thank god."

"Bobby." Sam took a deep breath, the grief threatening to overwhelm him.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Dean's a victim."

"How bad?" Sam heard the catch in Bobby's voice.

"Host," Sam grated out. "You know what's happened."

"My god, Sam. How…"

"Three entries, Bobby, maybe more."

"Sam…" Bobby took a deep breath.

"Don't say it, Bobby. I've been looking for more than a month. I'm not going to give up now that I've found him."

"I'm on my way. I'll be there tonight."

"Thank you."

"Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam didn't bother to pretend he didn't know what the older hunter was talking about. "Not your fault, Bobby."

"But it is, Sam. I got you into this."

**Six Weeks Earlier**

The diner was brightly lit, most of the light coming from a bank of windows overlooking Route 66. Light wood paneled walls contrasted nicely with gray tables and darker wood booths. The smells of frying burgers and coffee drifted around the bright room. Sam idly watched Dean as his brother circled the condiment bar in the center of the room for the fourth time. The pile on top of his brother's burger was threatening to spill off the plate, Dean stopped, scooped something else on top the mound and walked to the table.

"How are you going to eat that?" Sam asked, watching Dean press the top of the bun onto the burger.

"I'll manage," Dean said with a grin, picking up the sandwich. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean bit into it, shaking his head as half the contents of the burger ended up on Dean's hands. "Phhne rng," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"What?" Sam said, looking at Dean.

"Phone's ringing." Dean gestured at his coat with his elbow. "You get it."

Sam reached across and snagged Dean's coat. He pulled the phone out, quickly glancing at the caller ID. "Hey, Bobby."

"Sam? Is everything okay? Why are you answering Dean's phone?" Bobby asked, his voice gruff.

"Dean's busy," Sam said. Dean nodded. "What's up?"

"A friend called me for help with something. Could you come down?" Bobby paused, but before Sam could answer, he went on. "Before you say anything Sam, CJ, my friend, has a house you can use and…"

"And, Bobby? What?"

"She'll pay."

"Pay?" Sam asked. Dean's head snapped up so fast, Sam was sure his brother had given himself whiplash.

"Yeah, regular paycheck, she has a budget for this."

"Let me ask Dean." Sam looked across the table at his brother. Dean was nodding enthusiastically. "Okay, Bobby, where are you?"

"Roswell, New Mexico."

"Roswell?" Sam said. Dean muttered something, it might have been "cool," Sam wasn't sure. "We can be there in about eight hours."

"Great, you can meet us at your house." Bobby gave Sam an address. "We'll see you there."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam flipped the phone closed. "They'll meet us at our house."

Dean's eyebrows slid up. "Our house?"

"It comes with the job."

"We'll hit the road as soon as we have dessert."

"Dessert, Dean?"

"Did you see the size of the hot fudge sundae? Have to have one of those." Dean grinned. "Have to."

Nearly eight hours later, they were winding through the last of the Hondo River valley, before breaking onto the plains surrounding Roswell. Dean had been quiet on the drive south, but once they made the turn towards Roswell, Dean had kept up a steady chatter. First he'd pointed out that the movie "Them" had been set in the area, then alternating between the 1947 UFO crash and trivia about Billy the Kid. When Sam had finally asked what Billy the Kid had to do with UFOs, Dean shook his head.

"I wonder about that Stanford education sometimes, Sammy." Dean smiled. "Billy the Kid has nothing to do with UFOs."

"Then why…?"

"This is Billy the Kid country, Sam. That little town we just went through? That was Lincoln, you know that's the place where Billy…"

"I never knew you wanted to join his gang." Sam looked across the car at his brother. "Should we stop and get you a pony and a cowboy hat?"

"Bite me, Sam." Dean wrinkled his nose as the scent of skunk washed through the car. "I swear this stretch of road has more dead skunks than anywhere else in the U.S."

"Seems that way," Sam agreed, swallowing a gag.

The car rose out of the valley and onto the sweep of plain leading down towards the town. Sam could see trees rising out of the flat land, marking the presence of humanity in the vast empty plain. Small hills rose around them as they dropped towards the city. A herd of antelope grazed along the highway, Sam watched them as he listened absently to Dean's continuing chatter. _Sometimes Dean in a talkative mood is just too much. _Sam had about reached his breaking point when they reached the city. Dean followed the directions Sam had gotten and five minutes after arriving on Roswell they were pulling up in the driveway of a small white house on the outskirts of the city.

"Is this it?" Dean asked, looking at the house. There was an element of disbelief in his voice. "Wow."

"I guess so, that's Bobby's car." Sam got out of the car, the front door of the house opened and Bobby stepped out, waving them inside. "Must be the place."

"Yep." Dean got out of the car, pausing to look around. Sam watched as his brother sized up the neighborhood, the street and the house itself.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said, walking over to the older man.

"Sam, Dean," he said, smiling. "Come in." Sam followed Bobby into the house. A small woman was waiting in the living room. Sam heard Dean step into the house behind him. "Boys, I'd like you to meet Dr. CJ March."

"Sam," he said, holding out his hand and she took it in a firm, no-nonsense grip.

"Call me CJ." She smiled at him and turned to Dean. He shook her hand and with an absentminded smile walked through the living room, pausing in the small square hallway and looking into the two bedrooms at the back of the house, to the left of the living room. Sam noticed Bobby watching Dean with a look of approval. Dean looked into the bathroom and stuck his head back in the living room.

"Two bedrooms. Front one has window to the front yard and one into the garage. Back one has a window on the garage and one to the back yard. I'll take the back bedroom." Dean turned and walked into the kitchen.

"Do you all do that?" CJ asked, smiling at Sam.

"That?" Sam said.

"She means casing the joint," Bobby said with a laugh. "I already did it."

"And at my house, too," she added, looking at Bobby with a warm smile. "There's a swamp cooler here." She pointed at something that looked like an air conditioner in the window. "It's an evaporative cooler. Cheaper than air," she said, answering Sam's blank look. "We'll let you two get settled in tonight, then tomorrow come to the clinic, I'll brief you."

"Sure. Do you know what it is?" Sam asked Bobby.

"Demon, maybe." Bobby swallowed. "We'll talk in the morning."

"Hey, there's a peach tree out here, and a barbeque and AH!" Dean's voice rose in a shout of surprise. Sam was moving through the house before the cry died out, Bobby right behind him.

"Dean!" Sam skidded to a stop in the back door. His brother was buried under a mass of brown and cream fur. "Dean?" Sam walked quickly down the three steps to the patio, the broad cement area was covered by a striped awning, there were three trees growing at the edge of the patio. Sam could see the beginnings of peaches on them. He walked towards where his brother was hidden under the large dog. It had a wolf-look to it.

"Harry!" A man standing on the other side of the fence called. The dog looked up from Dean. "Harry, behave." The dog ran its tongue over Dean's face one more time and wandered back to the fence. "You got in, get out yourself." The dog looked at the man, Sam would swear he saw it shrug, and it slipped thought the fence. "Sorry about that, son."

Dean got up, brushing grass off his jeans. "It's okay." He walked over to the fence, the dog started wagging—his whole body moved in time with his tail. "Harry?"

"He came with a fancy schmancy name Wolf King of something or other. I tried that, but once I realized what a bleeding escape artist he was, Harry Houdini kind of stuck." He held out a dirty hand. "Oh, sorry." He pulled it back and wiped it on his shirt. "Been working on the tomatoes. Jason Raymond."

"Dean," he said, taking the other's hand. "That's my brother, Sam."

"Good to meet you." He nodded at Sam. "Hiya, CJ."

"Hi, Jason. Sam and Dean are moving in, they're helping me with my case."

"Oh," Jason said, for some reason looking sick. "I hope they can help."

"Me, too." She walked over and patted the older man's arm. "They're starting tomorrow."

"Welcome to the neighborhood!" He beamed at them. "Hang on. You stay here, Harry." Jason walked to the other side of the garden, as soon as he was a few feet away, the dog came back through the fence and leaned on Dean. "Harry, I told you to stay here. This side of the fence is as good as that side!" Jason came back to the fence with a handful of tomatoes. He handed them to Dean. "Something to say welcome. I'll let you boys get settled, looking forward to getting to know you. Harry? Come on, let 'em unpack!" The dog looked at him and up at Dean. "Harry, you can visit later." The dog wandered back through the fence with a last baleful look at Dean.

"We'll let you get settled, too," CJ said, smiling at them and walking back into the house.

"There's food in the fridge, see you in the morning," Bobby said, following CJ. "Be at the clinic at nine." He handed Sam a piece of paper with an address on it. "You might want to wait on breakfast till after you come."

"Bobby?" Sam frowned.

"Look, trust me on that, Sam. See ya!"

"What was that about?" Dean asked, walking up behind Sam.

"I don't know. Should we unpack?"

Dean shrugged. "You get the stuff and I'll see what there is to eat. I'm starved!"

Sam grabbed their duffels and the weapons bag and brought them into the house. He dropped Dean's on the bed in the bedroom at the back of the house. Sam was half tempted to claim the room for his own after Dean's public announcement, but decided the fight wouldn't be worth it. He put their toiletries in the bathroom, checking out the huge old-fashioned tub. Sam wandered into the large farmhouse kitchen. One wall was a bank of windows, opposite the windows was a long counter with a deep sink in the middle of it. The stove sat on the back wall and the refrigerator on the interior wall.

"Steaks, Sammy." Dean said, flipping the meat in the skillet. "Bobby stocked the fridge. This job freaking rocks."

"We don't even know what it is yet, Dean," Sam said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.

"We're getting paid, we have a house…" Dean looked at him, a wistful smile on his face. "When was the last time we lived in a house?"

"An actual house?" Sam thought about it. "That summer when I was eight?"

"That sounds right." Dean grabbed a plate and dropped a steak on it, he added some sliced tomatoes and handed it to Sam. "Sorry, potatoes would have taken too long."

"This looks good, thanks." Sam sat at the kitchen table and waited for Dean. "I'd say we should eat outside…"

"I didn't make enough to share with Harry." Dean sat down opposite him, he lifted his beer bottle. "To the job."

Sam lifted his bottle. "To the job, whatever it is."

There wasn't much traffic the next morning as they drove through town. On the way to the clinic Dean located three restaurants he wanted to try, a butcher shop, the grocery store and a video rental place. "You think we could be in heaven, Sammy?" he asked, punching Sam on the arm. "The butcher shop makes its own sausage and chicharrones."

"I saw the sign, too. I know I'll regret this, but what are chicharrones?" Sometimes Dean's eating habits still caught him by surprise.

"Fried pork rinds. Good stuff." Dean sighed happily. "We'll stop on the way home tonight."

"I'm not eating pork rinds for dinner."

"Of course not, they're the appetizer." Dean shook his head in mock disgust. "It's like I have to teach you everything."

"This is it," Sam said, pointing at a building surrounded by a chain link fence. "Razor wire on a clinic?"

"Maybe it's to keep people out of the drugs." Dean pulled in beside Bobby's car.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam answered, looking around. He had a sudden sense of unease, he couldn't place where it was coming from, but something about the silent clinic inside the chain link fence bothered him. He followed Dean through the door. CJ and Bobby were waiting for them with another man. Bobby stepped forward.

"Sam, Dean this is Dirk Proctor," he said, introducing the tall man. Sam noticed the bulk of a shoulder holster under them man's coat.

"Cop?" Dean asked. Sam glanced at his brother.

"Something like that," Dirk said, holding out his hand. "I know your situation. I'll try and help when this is over."

"Our situation?" Dean said, looking at Bobby with his eyebrows up.

"I told them, Dean. I need you here. They would have done a background check. So, I told them," Bobby said.

"It's okay, Bobby," Sam said, shaking Dirk's hand. _What is so bad that Bobby needs us? _

"So, how do you want to do this?" Dirk asked, turning to CJ. "Talk to them? Or show them the creatures first?"

"Creatures?" Dean said.

"They aren't creatures, Dirk," CJ snapped in the same moment. She sighed and turned down a hall. "Bobby? Do you want to start? Then we'll visit a victim." She said the last word with a frown at Dirk.

"It started here about six months ago. At first it was just missing persons, then about three months ago the police stumbled on a house. Someone had called in a tip about something odd going on. When the police showed up the place was full of bodies. Some sacrifices, some—some something else. They also found one victim alive. That's when CJ got involved. She called me about a month later. We're part of a task force to stop this. The police don't know what to do." Bobby sighed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Demonic?" Sam asked as they stopped outside a door.

"I don't know. That's our best guess at this point," Bobby said. "Whatever it is demands human sacrifices and worse."

"Possession?" Dean said, stopping beside Sam.

"Yes and no," CJ said quietly. "It does possess, but there is a physical component I've never seen in possession. It enters the body through a wound it creates."

Sam had been watching Bobby. The older hunter was swallowing, his face pale. "There's more," Sam said.

"As near as we can tell, the host—that's what we call the victims its entered—the host needs to be wiped," CJ said.

"Wiped?" Sam said, looking from Dean to Bobby.

"It doesn't seem to be able to enter a human whose personality is intact. We're not sure how they do it, but by the time it enters them there is nothing left of the person," CJ added.

"Oh my god," Sam said quietly, the enormity of what happened to the victims beginning to creep into his head.

"It's worse than that," Bobby said, his voice gruffer than usual. "The demon likes to be in them when they die. It kills them, almost like the sacrifices, but where the sacrifices are opened with a knife, the hosts—it…it opens them from inside out."

"Inside?" Dean said. "Like in 'Alien'?"

"Yeah, a lot like that," Dirk said.

"You said you've found hosts alive?" Sam asked.

"Yes, it doesn't seem to be able to stay in the body for an extended time. We think it has three or four hosts at any given time. We've found a few." She opened the door. It was a small room, brightly lit, a single figure on the bed. She led the way over to the bed.

"We should just put a bullet in their head when we find them. Saves then from what happens later," Dirk said with a growl.

"We found this one a week ago. We haven't repaired the wound yet, he was too physically compromised. He's lucky, it was only in him once. The more times it uses a host, the worse it is. The wound has tell-tale marks, each entry is a little different." CJ pulled the blanket down and lifted a bandage on the man's chest. There was a single wound under the sternum. "It goes in here."

Dean bent to the wound. "It looks almost like it was cut—or drilled out. All the hosts are like this?" CJ nodded. "Huh." He stood. "Sammy?" Sam walked to look at the wound. The man was thin, nothing but skin and bones. His arm was bruised, he had a dark bruise on his throat. Sam swallowed. "They all have the bruising on their neck?" Dean asked.

"He's only the second we've found that's only had one entry. The other did have the bruising. We think it might have to do with the first entry."

Sam was listening to the conversation as he examined the man. When he looked up, he realized the man's eyes were open. He smiled, but got no response. The man's eyes were vacant, drifting around the room aimlessly. "Is he sedated?"

"Only a little," CJ said. "Mostly we just give them pain med. This is the was they are, even without sedation, even without pain meds, at least until…"

"Until what?" Dean said.

"Until it comes for them again," Dirk said.

"How does it get them?" Sam asked, turning to Bobby.

Bobby shook his head. "We're not sure. We've tried everything. Salt, devil's trap, pentacle, you name it, we've tried it. Nothing stops what…"

A scream tore through the quiet. The man on the bed started whimpering, a desperate animal sound.

"It's here!" Dirk said, running out of the room towards the sound of the scream.

An alarm had started blaring. They ran down the hallway to another room. Dirk opened the door. The man on the bed was screaming. His chest was undulating, his hands stiff, his head thrown back, body rigid, his face a mask of total agony.

"Shoot him, Dirk! Damn it!" Bobby shouted. "Shoot him!"

Dirk pulled out his gun and aimed it at the man. The scream increased in volume and before Dirk could pull the trigger, the man slowly opened, his rib cage expanded as they watched, an odd crunching sound accompanying the man screams. The man was still screaming when something burst out of his chest. Sam saw the man's heart explode before his eyes and the screaming was suddenly silent.

"That's why we should shoot them when we find them," Dirk said.

"How many of the victims that you've rescued has this happened to?" Sam asked, looking at CJ.

Her face was bleak. "Every one of them, Sam. Every single one."

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. My study shall be tragic thoughts

_A/N I: One year ago today (18-July) I posted my first story. It's been such and amazing year! At the risk of a chick flick moment, I would like to take just a second to thank all of you and send each one a hug. Your support and kindness has meant the world to me, and has gotten me through some very rough patches. Thank you again! This chapter is offered and dedicated to all my Dean girl readers. _

_A/N II: Warnings as before. _

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Two**

_**My study shall be tragic thoughts**_

Portales was proving to be a problem. The local cops were helping—but only a little. The task force hit a wall with nearly every turn. Finally, after four days in the town, Bobby was getting somewhere. They'd investigated one house the day before, and now his team was waiting outside a second. The cops had called them when a hiker complained of the smell.

"Ready?" Bobby called. "Let's go." He took a deep breath and walked into the house, heading immediately to destroy the altar. The room that should have held the altar was empty, only a piece of black granite and a broken knife on the floor. Blood was congealed in dark pools covered by flies. He turned and walked across the entry way to the other room at the front of the house. _They always pick houses with the same basic design. _One of his team, Ian Marshall, was standing in front of a pile of bodies.

"Sacrifices, Bobby, all of them. Not one host." He turned to Bobby. "Looks like Sam was right."

"Yeah." Bobby looked around the room. "He was. I'll call him and see…"

"I get a little tired of taking orders from that kid," Ian said.

"I don't see you stepping up to the plate." Bobby growled. Sam's unofficial, but acknowledged, position as head of the task force filled Bobby with pride. The reason for Sam stepping into the role was breaking Bobby's heart, as surely as it was slowly killing Sam. Dean was missing, he'd been gone for weeks, and with each passing day the chances of finding him alive were getting less and less. Sam was ruthlessly driving the task force, finding what he could, destroying each site with a ferocity that terrified Bobby. Sam was emotionless, holding his feelings in check, cold, efficient and utterly terrifying.

"Bodies, Bobby, nothing but piles of the damn things, all sacrifices. Sam was right about it." Mike said, coming into the room. "What's up?" he asked, sensing the tension between Bobby and Ian.

"I was just saying…" Ian was cut off when Bobby's phone started ringing.

Bobby glanced at the caller ID before answering. "It's Sam." He took a deep breath and answered. "Sam?"

"I found Dean." Sam's voice was tight with emotion, the first Bobby had heard in weeks.

"Alive?" _Thank god, he's alive. _Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes…"

"Thank god."

"Bobby," Sam said quietly.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Dean's a victim," Sam's voice broke.

"How bad?" Bobby glanced up at the other members of his team, they were all there in the small room now.

"Host," Sam grated out. "You know what's happened."

"My god, Sam. How…"

"Three entries, Bobby, maybe more," Sam continued in the same tight voice. Bobby could hear the emotion there. Sam was very close to breaking.

"Sam…"

"Don't say it, Bobby. I've been looking for more than a month. I'm not going to give up now that I've found him."

"I'm on my way. I'll be there tonight."

"Thank you."

"Sam, I'm sorry." _Sorry for everything. Sorry Dean's a victim, sorry he's not dead. Sorry I got you…_

"Not your fault, Bobby," Sam said the words for the thousandth time.

"But it is, Sam. I got you into this," Bobby said quietly and broke the connection. He looked at his team. "I need to go. They found Dean."

"Dean?" Ian asked.

"His brother, Dean?" Mike said, horror in his eyes. "How bad?"

"Host," Bobby said, his voice breaking. He felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked over at Ian.

"Tell Sam we'll finish here and be back tomorrow," Ian said softly.

"Thank you," Bobby said. Each of the team gave him a gentle slap on the back as he walked out of the room. "See you tomorrow." He walked out into the bright sunshine with a heart that was nearly broken.

**XXX**

The ambulance lurched to a stop. The ride had been silent, Frank, the paramedic, had been focused on his job, leaving Sam to his thoughts. Sam had his hand on Dean's arm, trying to ignore the fact he could feel the bones and tendons under his hand, trying to take hope from the thready pulse under his thumb. The ambulance doors opened. Sam glanced up.

"We've got a host," Frank called. Staff rushed out of the clinic as they unloaded Dean's stretcher.

"Sam?" Rich Butler, the other doctor working with the task force, stopped when he saw Sam step out of the back.

"Take him to room nine," Sam said.

"Why?" one of the orderlies asked, he was relatively new to the group.

"Room nine," Sam growled. "I'll be right there." Sam waited for a minute and walked over to the man. "Do we have a problem?"

"Nine's reserved," he insisted.

"And I just assigned it. Take him back." Sam waited for a count of three. "Now," he said quietly, very nearly a whisper. One of the other staff members grabbed the man's arm and shook it.

"Nine, Sam, on our way," she said, shoving the orderly to the foot of the stretcher.

"Rich?" he said to the doctor, following the stretcher, but at a slow pace.

"What is it?" Rich asked, walking with him.

"It's Dean," Sam said, keeping his voice as even as he could. A small tremor had started in the pit of his stomach when he'd found his brother, it was rapidly growing—becoming a flutter of his heart and an almost overwhelming nausea, fueled by utter hopelessness.

"Dean?" Rich stopped him with a hand on his arm. "A host?"

"Yeah, three clear entries. I'll take a closer look as soon as he's in the room." Sam looked at the doctor. "He's in bad shape, we'll need to wait for surgery, at least a couple of days." He started walking again.

"Right. I'll help with the exam, if that's okay?" Rich said quietly, compassion clear in his voice.

"Thanks." Sam paused outside the door for a moment, trying to get control of his shaking hands. _Funny, they haven't been like that for weeks._

"I agree with Dirk, they're just animals. We should put them down as soon as we find them," the orderly was saying as Sam opened the door. "Look at this one. Nothing but skin and bones. There's nothing worth saving here. Better to just put it out of its misery."

"What's your name?" Sam asked casually, he didn't have daily contact with some of the newest members of the task force.

"Eric, Eric Jones," the man said, walking over to Sam.

"Well, Eric, consider yourself off this case. You can work with the others, but not this one." Sam was aware Rich had come into the room behind him.

"You can't just throw me off a case," Jones said angrily. "Doc? You tell him!"

"I can and will. Get out," Sam said softly, the muscles in his back tensing.

"No. This is my job. You can't throw me out."

"Get out." Sam stepped over to Jones and pulled him away from Dean's bed. "Now."

"Doc?" Jones said.

"Sam's in charge, Eric. Maybe you didn't know that, but you do now," Rich said.

"What? Him?"

"I find you in this room again and you're off the task force. Get out." Sam shoved him towards the door. When Jones turned back to the bed, Sam looked at Rich. "You probably should get him out. Now," he said quietly. Rich met his eyes, recoiling back half a step. The doctor grabbed the front of Jones' scrubs and pulled him out of the room. Sam heard angry words outside the door before Rich came back in.

The doctor handed Sam a pair of latex exam gloves. "I can do this, Sam."

"No, I know the wounds better than anyone, Rich. We need to know, we have to finish before the drug wears off." He pulled on the gloves. His hands had stopped shaking. With a sigh, he pulled down the blanket covering Dean's emaciated body. Sam ran his hands over the partially healed wounds on Dean's ankles and wrists, turning the left over to reveal the slash he'd noticed when he found his brother. "Suicide attempt?" Sam asked, looking up at Rich.

"Yeah, looks like. Whatever he used wasn't very sharp, this is more torn and hacked than cut," Rich said, examining the wound.

"Yeah." Sam moved on, staying focused on the idea that this was a victim, nothing more at this point. When his brother's name crept into his head, his hands would start to tremble and the nausea would begin pushing against his chest.

"Let's lift him so I can get a look at the back. You said three entries?"

"Maybe more," Sam said, reaching over and rolling Dean onto his side so Rich could look at his back.

"Right." Rich looked down at Dean. "My god," the doctor whispered. He looked up at Sam, horror in his eyes. "Sam…"

"What is it?"

"Seven."

"What?" _No, no, please no. _Sam's hands started shaking, the nausea becoming almost overwhelming.

"There are seven strips gone." The doctor gently moved Sam's hand and lowered Dean back to the bed. "Sam…"

"No." Sam denied it, even though he knew the wounds so well. _Oh god. _Sam swallowed the nausea and ran his hand down Dean's chest, feeling the odd swelling the thing made when it entered a victim. "Extensive," he said, his voice calm. _Just a victim, focus on that. _Sam gently ran his hands along the edge of Dean's ribcage before probing the wound at the base of the sternum. He slid his finger into the wound, feeling for each entry point, calmly counting them. _Just a victim, just a victim. _"One, two, three," he said, counting them for Rich and the recorder that was running. _Oh god. No, just a victim, focus. _"Four, five." He stopped and looked at the doctor. "You're right. Seven." _Just a victim, just a victim. _

"Seven?" Rich's voice reflected horrified compassion.

"Yeah." Sam snapped the gloves off his hand and tossed them in the HazMat bin. "Do the blood work. I'm going to clean up and make a few notes. I'll be in my office." He turned to go.

"I'll have your brother cleaned up by the time you get back, Sam." Rich looked at him. "You okay?"

"He's a victim, Rich."

"He's not dead, Sam."

"No, he's not." Sam paused. "It's worse than that. I'll be back." Sam walked out of the room and down the hallway towards his office. As he walked, the nausea began pressing against him, making it hard to breath. _Just a victim, just a victim. _By the time he reached to door of his office, the nausea had reached the breaking point. He sprinted through his office to the small bathroom at the back. He slammed to his knees just in time. When the retching was reduced to the dry heaves, he forced himself up and turned the shower on, letting it warm up while he grabbed a change of clothes from the closet. _Just a victim, just a victim. _He stepped into the water, letting the warmth ease the ache in his neck. _Just a victim. _The slashed wrist was suddenly before his eyes.

"Why didn't you wait for me? You knew I was looking for you, you had to. Why? Why would you try to leave?" Sam heard his voice. _Just a victim, not Dean, just a victim. _"Dean…" His brother's name ripped from his chest, he felt the heat of tears in his eyes. "No, just a victim, just a victim," he sobbed and the dam gave way. Weeks of carefully controlled emotion broke loose in a giant wave. Sam collapsed to the floor of the shower stall and wept.

**Six Weeks Earlier**

The room was quiet. Dirk still had his gun in his hand, Bobby was staring at the now-open body. Sam was looking at the corpse, trying not to gag as the smell began drifting through the room. He looked at his brother, Dean met his eyes with a quirk of the eyebrows. _What has Bobby gotten us into? _

"Fun," Dean said. Sam could see Dean's jaw working as his brother ground his teeth together. "You say this happens to every one?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, turning away from the body and opening the door. "Let's get out of here."

"Do you do an autopsy?" Sam asked CJ as they left the room.

"No. We do an exam when we find them. Check the wounds, count the strips..."

"Count the strips?" Dean said as they walked down the hallway. Bobby pushed a door open and they went into the empty office.

"For some reason, each victim has had strips of skin removed from their back. The number of strips corresponds with the number of entries."

"And it gets better," Dean said, perching on the edge of the desk.

"All the victims have wounds on their ankles and wrists," CJ continued.

"Restraints?" Sam asked, sitting beside his brother. Dean nudged him with his shoulder. It was Dean's "just making sure you're okay" nudge. Sam nodded an answer.

"We think so, metal most likely, considering the damage."

"What else?" Dean said.

"There's the drugs," Bobby said. "CJ hasn't been able to figure out exactly what it is. The victims all have needle tracks. We do blood work, we've found traces of components, but nothing solid."

"A spell of some kind?" Sam asked, looking at Bobby. The older hunter had deep dark circles under his eyes.

"I think so, but I have no idea…" Bobby trailed off with a bleak look. "I'm hoping you two might find something we've missed."

"He said you were two of the best," Dirk said with an appraising frown.

"Yep, that's us." Dean hopped off the desk.

"Can we look at case notes?" Sam said.

"I'll have the files brought in," CJ said.

"Brought in?" Dean ask with a raise of the eyebrows.

"This is your office. The computer has a lot of the information from the files, but the hard copies have more. There's a shower at the back, coffeemaker's on the file cabinet," CJ said, pointing out the various items as she named them off.

"Cool," Dean said, wandering around the office. Sam watched his brother poke at the coffeemaker, a moment later it started gurgling. Dean walked to the back of the room and opened the door. "Nice shower."

"You'll need it, trust me. After we clear out a house, you'll need it," CJ said. "We've heard rumors, we might have one tomorrow. Stay as long as you want. You aren't on a clock. I'm not worried about the office time. If you want to work at home, that's fine. If you want to look at a couple of the houses we've cleared, let me know."

"Sure," Sam said, sitting down behind the desk and turning the computer on. "Thanks." He smiled at CJ as she and Dirk left the room. Once they were gone, Bobby sank into a chair. "You okay?" Sam asked, looking across the desk at the older man.

"Here," Dean said, handing Bobby a cup of coffee. "You get the first cup from our very own office coffeemaker." He was grinning. Sam watched an answering smile appear on their friends face. "One for you too, Sammy." He put the cup down in front of Sam.

"Thanks," Bobby said, sipping at the coffee. "I'm glad you two are here. I've hit wall after wall. I have no idea what we're dealing with. I'm not even sure it's a demon." Bobby scrubbed a hand across his beard. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Never?" Dean asked. Sam saw his brother's eyes widen. _And no wonder, if Bobby hasn't seen it before…_

"Never." Bobby shook his head. "The worst part is everything we know is from inference."

"What do you mean?" Sam said.

"We have the victims, we know about the possession or whatever you want to call it. We know about the physical wounds. We've taken good guesses at what they are…"

"But?" Dean said.

"But we've never caught one of the people involved, any of the people that serve the thing. we thought we had one, but he killed himself before we could question him. The victims don't talk. We know they have vocal chords. They whimper, they cry, they scream. One made a small grunting noise when he would see me." Bobby looked away.

"Bobby, what is it?" Sam could see pain on the older man's face.

"I rescued him. We discovered that they are easier to handle if we show them our face, rather than wearing a surgical mask…"

"You wear a mask?" Dean raised his eyebrows. _It must be bad for them to have to wear masks._

"Yeah," Bobby sighed. "We found this one about two weeks ago. I found him." Bobby stood and walked to the window. "It was the first live one I'd found. He was terrified. I had to wait for CJ to drug him…"

"Drug him?" Dean asked.

"We sedate them before we move them. They can get violent."

"But they let you sedate them?" Dean's voice was incredulous.

"They always respond to the needle," Bobby said sadly. "We brought him back and examined him. He'd been entered twice. I was there when he woke up. He…" Bobby stopped. Dean walked over and put his hand on Bobby's back. "He reached for me, boys. I thought… Well, I thought it was a good sign."

"It wasn't?"

"Sometimes they imprint on the rescuer," Bobby said.

"Imprint? Like a baby animal?" Sam asked, trying to get the information, but hating the pain he heard in Bobby's voice.

"Yeah. Just like that. No emotion, no speech, nothing but a vague recognition that the rescuer took them out of where they were. They will react to the rescuer, reach out to make contact, but it's instinctual, nothing more. It's hard to explain till you see it."

"What happened?"

"Same thing as happened this morning. I was there. I wasn't fast enough to kill him before it did." Bobby swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Dean said softly.

"Yeah." Bobby cleared his throat and turned from the window. "I'll leave you boys to research. Let me know if I can answer any questions. "You might want to take off early. If we get a call tomorrow, it'll be a long day."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, waiting till the older hunter left the room before turning to Dean. "Still like the job?"

"Hmm, let's see. Our own office, a house, a paycheck and a butcher shop that makes fresh chicharrones. Yep, still good." Dean plopped down in a chair with a grin.

"Dude, I'm starving," Dean said, several hours later.

Sam looked up from the file he was reading. "You're hungry?"

"Yeah, I want ribs."

"Ribs?" _You've got to be kidding me, Dean. _"You want ribs? After reading all these case files?"

"Yep, and chicharrones. Let's go." Dean slapped the file he was reading closed and stood. "We'll fire up the barbeque."

"Okay." Sam gathered up several files he hadn't gotten to and followed Dean out of the office. Half an hour, and three stores later, Sam was sitting at the table on the patio watching Dean and Harry cook dinner. "Can you at least try and keep the dog from slobbering on all the food?"

"He likes to taste," Dean said with a shrug. He handed Harry some chicharrones. "He likes them."

"Oh, good, less for me," Sam said with a smile.

"Hey!" A voice called. Sam looked up, an older man was standing at the back fence. "Hi there!"

"Stay out of the food, Harry," Dean said, walking to the fence. "Hi."

"I'm Bill Baker," the man said, extending his hand to Dean.

"Dean. That's my brother, Sam." Dean pointed at Sam with the spatula.

"I see Harry's made himself at home," Bill said with a laugh. "I saw you talking to Jason last night. He thinks he grows good tomatoes. Mine are better." He handed a large grocery sack to Dean. "Here's a little welcome to the neighborhood. Let me know what you think. You can judge the tomatoes this year." He smiled. "Good to have someone in the house again! Oh, and keep the tomatoes away from Harry. He loves them." With a friendly slap on Dean's shoulder, he walked away.

"Hey, Harry, get out of there!" Dean called, sprinting across the lawn to grab the bag of chicharrones from the dog. "These are to share."

"Not with me," Sam said, closing the file. "I've had enough research for today." He picked up his beer and took a sip.

"Good, dinner's almost ready." Dean glanced at him. "I still think we should have had ribs."

"No, I'm not eating ribs again for a long time."

"Buzz kill." Dean tossed him a tomato. "These are great," he said, biting into one. "Home grown tomatoes, doesn't get better than that."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. His phone started ringing, with a quick glance at the caller ID, he answered. "Hey, Bobby."

"Hey, Sam. We got a call. There's a possible house outside of town. We'll be heading in tomorrow morning."

"Not tonight?" Sam asked, looking at his brother.

"No, never at night."

"Why?"

"The one time we went in at night, we lost four people. We aren't sure what happened. Three were dead, one we found later. A host." Bobby sighed. "Take it easy tonight, and don't under any circumstances, eat before you come in tomorrow. Be at the clinic by seven."

"Sure, see you the." Sam broke the connection and looked at Dean. "They have a house, we're going in tomorrow morning. Bobby said not to eat."

"That makes it sound fun," Dean said, dishing up their food. He put a small piece of steak, some potatoes and a small tomato on a plate and put it in front of Harry. "What?" he said, sitting at the table. "He likes them, too, and Jason said it was okay."

"Bobby said to take it easy tonight."

Dean picked up his beer and held it up in a toast. "Sounds like a plan."

**Present**

The water in the shower was running cold by the time Sam pulled himself out of the stall. He toweled off, dressed and walked into the office. He looked at the coffeemaker, he hadn't used it since Dean had disappeared. Dean's cup was still sitting by the pot, grounds were ready to brew, the water level full. Sam had never been able to bring himself to turn it on. He straightened the cups again, making sure they were precisely centered in front of the coffeemaker, so the handles were in a line with the edge of the filing cabinet.

He turned on the computer and quickly entered the information from this house. The lack of bees, two hosts that died before the thing could finish them, the number of sacrificed bodies, including the room that only held sacrifices. He paused then typed "One victim, male, usual age span. Seven entries." His hand hovered over the keys, debating giving the victim a name. Dean's name. _No, just a victim now, worse than dead. _He hit save and sent the report to Dirk and CJ.

"Sam?" Ronny stuck his head in the door.

"Come in." Sam sat back in his chair. "What's up?"

"CJ said I should come in and tell you. Three nests."

"Three? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I found them," there was a note of pride in his voice. "While I was looking, I got buzzed by four different ones, two of those red-throated ones. There might have been more, I couldn't tell, they move so fast." Ronny smiled. "I found the offering place too, covered in flowers."

"Good job, Ronny." Sam smiled at him. "Thanks. You need to write that up and give it to me. I'll get it out to the team leaders."

"Really? Me? Write a report?"

"You found them. Get it to me by tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Thanks, Sam!" Ronny grinned, then his smile faded. "How's Dean?"

"He's in room nine, if you want to visit later. I'm going to check on him now."

"Okay, Sam. Thanks again!"

Sam sighed and looked out the window. _Three nests, but no bees. What does that mean? _He scribbled a few notes on a piece of scratch paper. Sam straightened the few things on his desk, stood and walked out of the office. He headed down the hall to room nine. With a sigh he opened the door. Before checking on Dean he made sure the room was well protected. There was salt at the windows, charms he and Bobby had painted on the floor, mirrors faced out in the corner of each window, and a small bowl held a smoldering mound of sacred herbs. _Good. _He turned to the bed.

Dean was still out. The staff had washed his hair and cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his wrists and ankles. Even though his brother was covered with a light blanket, Sam could see the bulk of a bandage on the entry wound. Sam sank down in the chair by the bed, watching the slight rise and fall of Dean's chest. The heart monitor beeped softly in the quiet room.

The door opened. Sam knew without turning it was Bobby, he heard the older hunter's sharp intake of breath. "Bobby."

"Sam, how is he…?" Bobby stopped.

"Seven, Bobby," Sam heard the emotion in his voice as he said it.

"What?" Bobby gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Seven strips, seven entries." Sam swallowed the sudden pain. A soft moan drifted up from the bed, Sam bent over, hoping Dean would say something—anything. _One word, Dean, only one word, please. _ The amulet Sam had been wearing for weeks bumped against the bed with a small clang. Sam sat up and pulled it over his head. "This is yours." He slipped it over Dean's head, fussing with it for a moment. "They must have left it behind for a reason. Maybe it will help."

"Yeah, it might," Bobby said.

Another moan that rapidly became a whimper of fear. Sam looked at Dean, his brother's eyes were open. "It's okay, you're safe," Sam said gently. "You're safe here." Dean blinked, terrified eyes darting around the softly lit room, before coming back to rest on Sam's face. A skeletal hand slid out from under the blanket and wrapped around Sam's arm.

"He knows you!" Bobby said, joy apparent in his voice.

_Please, please let that be true. _Sam looked into Dean's eyes, and knew the truth. "No, Bobby."

"Yes, Sam! Look!" He pointed to Dean's hand, fastened around Sam's arm.

"No, Bobby," Sam said, trying to hold back the tears that were already tracking down his face.

"Sam?" Bobby looked at him.

"He doesn't know me," Sam said, his voice breaking. "He's just imprinted."

_Oh, god. Oh no. Please, please, Dean._

_Just a victim, worse than dead._

_**To Be Continued.**_


	4. My Joy is Dead, and Can't Be Reviv'd

_A/N: I would like to pause for a moment and say again, this is not death fic—nor is it Dean in a vegetative state forever fic. It's about survival and strength. I know it looks bleak—even hopeless—right now, but give me time. Warnings as before._

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Three**

_**My joy is dead, and cannot be reviv'd**_

The heart monitor was beeping, a soft, almost musical sound. It was an odd counterpoint to the harsh sound coming from behind Sam. Bobby was struggling to get control of himself. Sam could hear it, but he knew if he turned around and saw the pain on the older man's face he would be unable to go on.

"Sam," Bobby's voice was gruff. "Are you sure it's just imprinting?" Hope mixed with horror in his voice.

Sam looked into Dean's eyes again. _There's nothing there. Oh, god. Dean…_His brother's name screamed in his head. Sam took a deep breath. _He's a victim. Focus on that. Not Dean. _His brother whimpered softly, terrified, feral eyes looking from Bobby to Sam and back again. "It's okay," Sam said softly. He reached a hand out, Dean shifted away, but kept his own hand fastened around Sam's arm. "I won't hurt you." Sam laid his hand on Dean's head, gently stroking his brother's forehead—the way he'd calm a terrified kitten. Dean pulled away at first, then relaxed a little, leaning into the touch.

"Sam?"

"No, Bobby. It's just imprinting." _Oh god, Dean. No. Not Dean. Not anymore. _He finally turned to the older man, Bobby's eyes were red, but he had control. "You find anything?"

Bobby looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Yeah, finally found a house. You called it. All sacrifices. The altar was gone, too. The rest of the team will be back tomorrow."

"Good. I want you to head down towards Carlsbad as soon as the team is all here," Sam said, hearing the authoritarian tone in his voice.

"The caves?"

"I'm not sure about that, but they've been skirting all these communities. Carlsbad seems like a logical place. We got a call from the cops down there earlier today. They did confirm missing persons—although it's been more than a month."

"Do you think…?"

"That they are focusing here? On Roswell?" Sam asked. "I think they always were. The other houses are incidental. That's why we're finding sacrifices but no hosts. The house where we found De…" Sam stopped and swallowed. "Where we found the latest victim—there were hosts' bodies and two that died before it could finish them. Ronny found three nests and the offering place. He said he was buzzed by four of them, including two with red throats." He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yeah?"

"Sam?" CJ said, pausing just inside the door, Dirk standing behind her.

"Come in." Sam looked at them.

"How is he?" Dirk asked quietly.

"Did you read my report?" Sam asked, they shook their heads. Sam ground his teeth together, forcing the sudden anger away. _They just got back and came to check on Dean. Be fair. _"Seven entries," he grated out.

"Seven? My god, Sam, how did he survive?" CJ asked, her voice reflecting the horror in her eyes.

"I don't know." Sam realized Dean was trembling. He turned back to his brother. "It's okay, we won't hurt you." He was still gently stroking his brother's forehead. Dean whimpered, the hand on Sam's arm tightened painfully. "What is it?" Sam asked, then realized he could hear voices from the hall—the orderly Eric Jones and someone else. Dean whimpered again, making a tiny terrified grunting sound. "No one will hurt you," Sam said. "It's okay." The raised voices continued. Sam looked at CJ and Dirk. "I'll be right back." He pried Dean's hand loose. "I'll be right back," he said to his brother when Dean reached out for him, whimpering in fear.

"Sam, I'll take care of it," Bobby put a restraining hand on Sam's arm.

"No," Sam pulled his arm away. Bobby wasn't fast enough to stop him before he was out the door. "Jones!"

"Yeah?" The man turned to Sam with a sneer.

Sam was aware the others had come out of Dean's room and were standing behind him. "What are you doing here? I removed you from this case."

"I wanted to talk to Dr. March about that," Jones said, stepping towards them.

"Sam…" Bobby said quietly.

"You wanted to talk to me?" CJ asked, standing beside Sam.

"This guy said I couldn't do my job," he whined.

"Sam?" CJ turned to him.

"I said he was off this case. He can work with the others, but not this one," Sam said, keeping his voice even.

"You heard him" Dirk said from behind Sam. "You're off this one."

"He can't do that!" Jones protested, stepping close enough to almost touch Sam.

"Yes, he can," CJ said quietly.

Sam clenched his fists. Jones was right in front of him, one hand raised belligerently. Sam took a deep breath, forcing calm over the bubbling rage. "You need to…" He stopped when the terrified sounds from Dean's room increased in volume. "Get him out of here," he snapped at Bobby and ran back into the room.

Dean was curled on the bed, arms over his head. Sam reached the bed and laid a hand down on Dean's arm. His brother reacted by moaning in fear. "There's nothing here to hurt you, it's okay." Sam ignored the voices in the hall and focused on trying to calm Dean. _Not Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean. _He gently stroked his brother's arm. The terrified sounds increased, the now-loud whimper becoming something closer to a repeated scream. "CJ!" Sam shouted. The doctor ran into the room. "Something's wrong. Can we sedate him? Or at least get a needle, maybe it'll calm him down."

"Yes." She disappeared for a moment and was back, a syringe in her hand. Sam pulled Dean's arm away from his head long enough to let Dean see the needle. The arm stayed down. Dean was watching, still making the terrified sounds, as CJ pushed the drug into the IV in his arm.

"It's okay," Sam said softly. Dean's eyelids slid closed. His hand closed over Sam's arm again before he relaxed.

"What was that about?" CJ asked.

"I don't know. I…" Sam stopped when the alarm started blaring. He ran out the door.

"Fourteen! It's in fourteen!" Dirk shouted, racing down the hallway. Sam was right behind Dirk when they reached the room. The man in the bed was screaming, writhing as the thing moved in his chest. "Not this time," Dirk snarled.

The screams were suddenly gone—stopped by the soft sound of the silenced weapon. Blood spattered the wall behind the bed. The chest exploded outwards, the no-longer beating heart ripped from the chest. Sam ducked aside as the organ flew towards him. _Made it angry. Good._ For just an instant he thought he saw the thing. The horrifying mass of it appearing suddenly—and just as suddenly gone. Sam met Dirk's eyes and quietly left the room. He saw the clean-up team already racing down the hall.

"He must have sensed it," Sam said to Dirk as they walked back towards Dean's room.

"What?" Dirk asked, following Sam into the room. CJ and Bobby were sitting by the bed. Bobby had a shattered look on his face. _What now? That's not just for…for this victim._

"He sensed it was here, that's why he reacted like that." Sam walked to the other side of the bed and laid his hand on Dean's head. "Are the others all sedated?"

"As soon as the alarm went off, Sam," CJ assured him.

"Good." Sam looked across the bed at the three of them. "What's happened?"

"Sam…" CJ began. She looked at Bobby, he put an arm around her shoulders. "The body in the room with Dean…It…It was…" She turned to Bobby, he pulled her against him.

"It was Randy," Dirk said, his voice harsh.

"Randy?" Sam asked, the name hit him like a blow. He swallowed, his hand was trembling where it rested on Dean's head. "Does Ronny know?"

Dirk shook his head. "He followed you out, then helped the search outside the house. He was only there for a minute before you came. He doesn't know."

"Okay." Sam pulled his hand away from Dean. "Can you have a bed moved in here for me? He's imprinted. It will be better if I'm here. When can we schedule surgery?" The others were looking at him. _I sound so calm, that's what they're hearing. They've all told me I'm too detached. That I'm emotionless. It's the only way._

"As soon as possible, Sam. I'll examine him and talk with Rich. Maybe tonight if we can," CJ said quietly, her voice muffled against Bobby's shoulder.

"Good. The sooner the better. Don't shave him," Sam said.

"What?"

"Don't shave him," Sam repeated, walking to the door. _As long as the beard is there he doesn't look like…No, not Dean. _

"Where are you going?" Bobby asked quietly.

"To tell Ronny his brother is dead." Sam walked out of the room before they could try and stop him.

**Six Weeks Earlier**

There was a click and mariachi music started playing. Sam lifted his head from the pillow and glared at the alarm clock. He'd been sure he'd left it on one of the local rock stations when he set it the day before. He stabbed at the snooze button and rolled onto his back.

"Do you think when Bobby said no food, he meant coffee too?" Dean asked from the door.

"Did you change the station on my clock?" Sam looked at Dean.

"What? Changed the station? I don't know what you're talking about." Dean grinned. "Coffee?"

"Bobby said no food, coffee probably counts," Sam said.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, I'll grab a quick shower." Dean turned from the door. A moment later Sam heard the water go on in the bathroom.

Sam sighed. _It must really be bad for Bobby to warn us like that. He knows what we've seen. _The scent of roses wafted through the window, there was a bird chattering on the window sill. Sam could hear its beak pulling on the metal screen. A bugle from the military institute was sounding reveille and the mariachi music started again. Sam groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position, turning the alarm off.

After they'd eaten, he'd gone back to research while Dean amused himself playing with Harry. His brother and the large dog seemed to have formed a "let's see how annoyed we can make Sam" alliance sometime during dinner. The annoyance continued until Sam had retreated into the house after having a slimy tennis ball dropped on his lap one too many times. Dean finally came into the house around ten, complaining that Jason wouldn't let Harry stay out later.

"All yours, Sam," Dean said, coming out of the bathroom.

"Thanks." Sam grabbed his clothes. Getting the shower second wasn't the issue it usually was—the small house was equipped with a huge hot water heater. So, getting the second shower in the already warm and steamy bathroom was a nice change from the usual cold shower he got when Dean had been in the bathroom first. When he was finished, he wandered through the house. The back door was open. Dean was sitting on the back steps, he glanced up and smiled as Sam sat down beside him.

"We'll head out in a minute. Bobby said seven right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, meet at the clinic, then to the house." He looked at his brother. "How bad do you think it is?"

"You read the files, Sam, a lot more carefully than I did. You know what's coming."

"Yeah. Still like the job?"

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "Yep. Ready to go?"

"I guess," Sam said, standing and following Dean through the house.

When they arrived at the clinic, there were several cars parked in the lot. Bobby waved at them as they pulled up. Dean grinned at him and pointed, one parking space now had their names on it. Dean parked the car in the space and they got out. Bobby waved them over. He was standing by a large van chatting with Dirk and two other men.

"Morning, Bobby," Dean said, stopping beside the older hunter. He smiled at the two men. "Bon Jovi? You're wearing a Bon Jovi t-shirt?" Dean said to the taller of the two.

"I'm hoping it'll get ruined once and for all," he smiled and held out his hand. "Randy Schrader, this is my brother, Ronny." He pointed to the other with his thumb.

"Dean Winchester, that's my brother Sam."

"Ronny got me the shirt." Randy shook Sam's hand, then Ronny shook their hands.

"You bought the tickets to the concert," Ronny said, giving his brother a shove.

"Just because you whined till I did," Randy said, shoving back.

"Shut up," Ronny laughed

"You shut up."

"Knock it off," Bobby said with an amused chuckle. "Let's go in, time for briefing."

"I'm more of a Sabbath fan," Randy said to Dean as they walked into the clinic.

"I'm with you there. Although Bon Jovi beats some of that new crap. I managed to catch a concert when we were in Portland a while ago. The opening act sucked out loud," Dean said.

"Who was it?" Randy asked.

"I don't know—some thrash metal band that mostly growled. Sucked."

"He actually likes Bon Jovi," Ronny said under his breath to Sam.

"I think Dean does too, he cranks a couple of their songs when they come on," Sam said, smiling at the other.

"Yeah, Randy does too," Ronny chuckled. "We won't mention we know, right?"

"Never." Sam laughed with Ronny. "How long have you been on the task force?"

"Three weeks. Dirk recruited us." They reached the briefing room, Sam sat between Dean and Ronny. "We were hiking found a house outside of Hobbs and reported it."

"You found a house?" Dean asked, looking from Ronny to Randy. "You cops?"

"No," Randy laughed. "We're grad students. Or we were." His face darkened briefly. "Anthropology."

"Both of you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, my specialty is ethnobotany and Randy's is, well, sacrifices," Ronny offered.

"Your specialty is sacrifices?" Sam asked, leaning forward to look at Randy.

"Yeah, the cross cultural application of human sacrifice in ancient cultures," Randy said.

"Dude, you make human sacrifice sound boring," Dean said.

"It's not," Randy said softly.

"No," Dean answered in the same tone.

"If I can have your attention?" CJ said, stepping to the front of the room. "First, I'd like to welcome Sam and Dean to the task force." She waited as "hello" and "welcome" were shouted from around the room. "I'll let you get to know each other better later. For now, we have a house, it's been confirmed. The local police were there yesterday, they called and advised us and ask us to go in. Since the episode two weeks ago they are operating under a strict policy to let us handle it." Mummers of approval ran around the room.

"What happened?" Sam whispered to Ronny.

"Cops went in, lost two officers," he whispered back.

"The team will be divided into the usual groups, Randy and Ronny are with me. Sam and Dean you'll be with me as well. Let's head out and get this over with. Dismissed. Can I see those coming with me for a minute?" She smiled as they approached. "Randy, this is Sam and Dean's first time in…"

"We'll keep an eye on them. Dean can come with me, Ronny and Sam with you," Randy said.

"Good," CJ said, smiling at them.

Randy led the way out to the van, the four of them taking the back seat. Randy was chatting with Dean about music. Ronny sat quietly beside Sam, his hands clenched. The van wound its way out of town and into the open grassland to the east of the city. They stopped at a house at the end of a long dirt road. Randy handed them surgical masks that smelled strongly of eucalyptus and lavender.

"You'll need that," Randy said with a grimace.

"Really?" Dean asked, hopping out of the van. "Oh, yeah, going to need it." He slipped the mask over his head and waited for the others. Sam stepped out of the van—the stench hit him like a wall. The sick-sweet smell of death hung over the place, he quickly put the mask on, trying to stop a gag before it became something worse.

"I think not eating breakfast was a good idea," Sam said.

"Yeah." Dean rolled his shoulders. "Are we ready?"

Randy was watching CJ, when she waved, they moved in. The door was unlocked. After Dirk opened it, the sickening smell rolled over them in a huge wave. Sam gagged and heard Dean swallow several times.

"Wait a minute, it will calm your stomach down," Randy suggested.

"I've eaten in diners that smelled worse." Dean met Sam's eyes. _He wants to make sure I'm okay. _Sam nodded. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and they went in. Randy pulled Dean to the right, Sam, Ronny and CJ headed to the left.

"The altar's still here," Randy shouted from the other room.

Sam looked around the room he was in. Bodies were piled against the wall. _My god, how many people have gone missing? _CJ was looking at the bodies. Sam moved closer to her. "What are we looking for?" He looked at the corpse she'd just turned over. The ribcage had been split open with a sharp object.

"This is a sacrifice, or we think it is. That's Randy's theory. The chest is open, often there are other wounds—mouth, hands, other places."

"Other places?" Sam looked at her.

"Don't ask," Ronny said, coming up beside him. "Three over there, CJ."

"Three what?" Sam asked.

"Former hosts." Ronny gestured to a pile of bodies. "I'll show you." He led Sam back across the room. Three of the bodies were different, the ribcages were open, torn out from the inside.

"It's like the man in the clinic yesterday," Sam said, looking more closely at the body. The heart was missing. He could see where it had been torn forcibly from the body. Sam swallowed several times, remembering what had happened the day before. Ronny lifted the corpse, revealing the stripes on the back. He pointed to the wounds on the ankles and legs. Sam nodded and walked to another pile of bodies. Two were sacrifices, another one a former host. When they had checked through all the bodies, they moved on.

There was a small kitchen at the back of the house. The sink held a pile of stinking organic remains—a mixture of animal and vegetable matter. There was a small piece of jade, curved like it might have been part of a bowl, on the counter by the sink. Sam pointed it out to Ronny.

"We're not sure what those are. We've never found more than bits and pieces. Randy thinks they are offering bowls, I tend to think they're used to mix a sacred drink."

"Is that because of your differing specialties?" Sam asked with a smile, then realized Ronny couldn't see it.

"Exactly, it's like being trapped at an academic conference sometimes." Ronny chuckled. "We're going out back." He called to CJ. She nodded absently and walked back into the hall towards the front of the house. Ronny looked out the window on the door before opening it. "Bees."

"Bees?" Sam said, following Ronny out. He stopped on the top step. A swarm of wasps hovered around the house.

"There are usually bees." Ronny walked down the steps. "And if there are bees, there is usually another altar." He scouted around the house. "Here." He pointed to a table, covered with the dried, decaying remains of flowers.

Something whizzed by Sam, zooming past at high speed. "What was that?"

Ronny frowned. "I don't know, I was looking at the offerings and I heard it, but missed what it was."

"Have you noticed anything like that before?" Sam walked to the fence bordering the yard. It was covered in flowers.

Ronny looked at him for a long moment. "Now that you mention it, yeah, I think I have. What do you think it is? Do you think it has something to do with this?"

"I don't know." Sam peered into the bushes. He thought he saw something hanging from a vine. Sam reached into the mass of vegetation. Before he could close his fingers around the object, pain blossomed on his neck.

"Sam!" Ronny grabbed him and pulled him away, the pain continued. "Randy!" He shouted. Randy and Dean barreled out of the front of the house as Ronny pulled Sam towards the van. They shoved him in and slammed the door closed. Sam looked up, a wall of wasps slammed into the side of the van.

"Sammy?" Dean grabbed him and turned him over, slapping at the remaining bees on his neck. "Sam!" Dean's voice had the crescendo of panic.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, trying to sit up. The bees were swirling around the outside of van like and angry cloud, then suddenly dissipated. CJ yanked the door open.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"The bees attacked Sam," Ronny said.

"It didn't feel like bees," Sam muttered.

"Are you allergic?" She stepped to the back of the van and examined Sam's neck. Sam shook his head. "I'm going to give you a shot of Benadryl anyway." She reached under the seat and pulled out a first aid kit. After digging through it, she pulled out a syringe. "This will sting a little."

"Right," Sam said. _More than the bees? Doubt that. _

"Then I think you need to go back to the clinic. I'm not sure how many stung you," CJ said, disposing of the syringe in the sharps container.

"I'm okay," Sam repeated. Dean frowned at him. "It's just a couple of bee stings," he protested as CJ backed the van out of the driveway.

"It's more than a couple," Randy said, looking at his neck. "What happened?"

"We were buzzed by something big," Ronny said. "Well, bigger than a bee."

"I saw something in the bushes and went to get a better look," Sam continued.

"That's when the bees attacked," Ronny finished.

"If you two keep that up, it might get annoying," Dean said, looking from one to the other. "What did you see?"

"I'm not sure, it looked like a nest of some kind." Sam leaned back in the seat, letting his eyes close. Now that the adrenaline had started to wear off, the stings were starting to hurt.

"Sammy?" Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's arm.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, right." Dean shifted, sitting in the seat beside him. Sam leaned against his brother and let the combination of the warm van and the Benadryl lull him into something close to sleep. It seemed like only seconds had passed before Dean was shaking him. "Sam?"

"Are we back at the clinic?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Yeah, do you want to go home?" Dean looked at him, concern in his eyes.

"No, I want to research for awhile before we go back and…" He sniffed. "Take a shower." Sam got out of the van, waiting as Dean retrieved a bag from the Impala. The walked together to their office, Dean turned the coffeemaker on as soon as they were in the room.

"You take the first shower, I'll go get something from CJ to put on those stings," Dean said.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, heading into the shower. He didn't hear his brother's reply. When he stepped out of the shower, he was feeling better. Sam took the cup of coffee Dean held out and settled behind the computer, trying to ignore the stench flowing off Dean. "Dude, take a shower, please."

"Oh, right." Dean grabbed his clothes.

Several hours later, Sam looked up from his research as Dean came back into the office. "Did you get that book?" Sam asked his brother.

"Yep, I put it in the car."

"What? I want to do a little more research, Dean."

"Yeah, and you can do it at home." Dean sat on the edge of the desk. "I invited Randy and Ronny to dinner, you and Ronny can work on the files."

"While you and Randy cook?" Sam smiled.

"Harry too, I was planning on asking Jason if Harry could come to dinner too." He hopped of the desk and slapped Sam on the back. "All research and no play makes Sammy a cranky boy."

"Okay, yeah, dinner sounds good."

"Yep, thought so. Maybe we'll get more tomatoes." Dean picked up his bag. "When do you think the peaches will be ripe?"

"I don't know. Later, sometime?"

"Good answer, geek-boy."

"Jerk." Sam laughed.

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "Bitch."

**XXX**

The sun was starting to set over El Capitan as Bobby drove back towards the clinic. He'd been east of town, checking out several abandoned ranches Sam had thought might be likely places to find another house. Bobby smiled, in the six days since Sam and Dean had arrived the task force had begun to rely more and more on the two. Sam, researching with Ronny, was beginning to piece a little of the information together. Dean, along with Randy, had located two houses, traveling as far afield as Clovis to the north and Hobbs to the south. Two days before Dean had discovered a grave with three sacrifices east of town, by the Pecos River.

Bobby made the turn towards town. He caught the flash of something off to his right. Bobby decided to investigate. Someone with a flat tire or car trouble was still at risk of heat stroke, even this close to town. He took the next road and drove towards the flash. As he drove up the road, he realized his heart was beating faster then normal. Through the soft golden haze caused by the dust in the air, the flash was starting to take shape. _No, no, it can't be. _Without realizing he was doing it, he sped up. He stopped in the middle of the road, staring with a growing sense of horror at what had caused the flash.

The Impala.

"Dean!" Bobby shouted, getting out of his car and sprinting to the Impala. "Dean! Randy!" He opened the driver's side door. The car was empty, blood splashed on the seats. "Dean!" he shouted, racing around the car and into the field behind the car. No trail, nothing to indicate anyone had moved through the hay. "Dean!" he called again, a sinking feeling in his heart. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number, waiting for the other to answer, his heart slamming against his ribs, his hands shaking, slick with sweat.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam answered on the third ring.

"Sam…" _How do I tell him? _

"Bobby, what's wrong?"

"I found the Impala," Bobby said.

"Where's Dean?"

"I don't know, Sam. The car is empty, the keys are still in it."

"He found the Impala," Sam said, answering a muttered question.

"What?" Ronny's shout came loud and clear through the phone.

"Where are you?" Sam asked, his voice rough with emotion. Bobby told him, giving him road names and mileage markers. "We're on the way, we should be there in ten minutes."

By the time Bobby heard the approaching car, he'd scouted up and down the road and into the surround fields. He'd found no sign of Dean or Randy—or who'd taken them. He was waiting at the Impala when Ronny and Sam pulled up.

"I've been up and down the road, Sam," Bobby said as Sam waked to the car.

"Anything?" Sam asked. He stopped beside the car and looked at Bobby.

"Nothing."

Sam opened the door and looked into the car. He walked around the Impala, going through all the motions Bobby had. When he came to stand beside Bobby again his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "How long do you think it's been?"

"I don't know, Sam, the blood's dried a little on the seats."

"Yeah," Sam said quietly his voice breaking. He looked over at Ronny, then back at Bobby. "Yeah," he said again. Sam opened the door and searched the car more carefully this time. After a minute he straightened. "Dean's amulet."

"What?" Bobby asked.

Sam held up the amulet, the string had been broken. "His necklace." Sam looked away, tears running down his face. "He hasn't taken it off since that Christmas," he said more to himself than Bobby. Sam tied the broken ends together. He looked at Bobby, the emotion on Sam's face nearly killed the older man. Tears were streaming down Sam's cheeks, he brushed them off with one hand, leaving a smear of blood and dirt across his face. "I'll be back at the clinic in an hour." He got into the car.

"Sam?" Bobby moved away as Sam closed the door. "Sam?" The engine roared to life, Bobby jumped out of the way as Sam pulled out. "Ronny?" Bobby walked over to the young man, he had his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. Bobby put his arm over Ronny's shoulder and stood beside him, offering support, not sure what to say.

"We should get back," Ronny said, wiping his face several minutes later. "Sam will need us."

"Yeah, he will." Bobby scrubbed a hand across his face. "Are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, Bobby, thanks." Bobby walked with Ronny to the car. "I'll see you in a few."

When the Impala rumbled into the parking lot an hour later, Bobby was waiting to meet it. He glanced over the car as Sam pulled into their parking space. The car was clean, not one speck of dust marred the black surface. Bobby looked inside the car as he walked to the driver's side. There was no blood on the seats, the carpet was freshly vacuumed.

"You should take the rest of the day off, Sam," he said as Sam got out.

"No, can't," Sam said, no emotion in his voice. Dean's necklace was hanging around his neck. Bobby met Sam's eyes and recoiled back—his heart broken. _Oh, no, have I lost them both? _

**Present**

The hallway was quiet, the staff moving silently between the rooms. Several nodded at Sam as he walked towards the office at the back of the small library. Ronny's office. Sam glanced in the rooms as he passed, making sure the victims were still quiet. They'd learned the hard way that the best thing to do when the alarms went off was to sedate all the victims. They'd debated keeping the victims deeply sedated all the time, but it had been vetoed on humanitarian grounds. _Fools, it's less likely to attack if they're unconscious. _Sam sighed.

The library was empty—it usually was. Sam could see Ronny sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. Ronny looked up when Sam stopped in the door. "Sam?"

"Ronny…" Sam stopped, unsure what to say.

"They found Randy, didn't they?" Ronny took a deep breath. "I've been expecting it, Sam, since you found Dean. Was…was Randy a sacrifice or a host?" Tears were pooling in his eyes, his voice breaking.

"Neither," Sam said gently.

"Neither, then how…?"

"He was the…He was in the room with Dean."

"That was Randy?" Ronny whispered. "I didn't even recognize him, Sam. Oh, god, it was Randy?" The tears broke free of his eyes, running down his cheeks.

"Ronny, I'm so sorry." Sam leaned against the desk. His phone rang, he glanced at the caller ID, it was CJ. "It's CJ, Ronny."

"Answer it, Sam. We have to keep going."

"Yeah?" Sam said, answering the phone.

"Sam, I checked Dean and I think he's stable enough for surgery," CJ said.

"Good, the sooner the better," Sam said. "I'll be in my office, let me know when he's out." Sam flipped the phone closed. Ronny looked at him with a frown of concern, the tears still running down his face. "They're taking Dean to surgery."

"So soon?" Ronny asked, putting his hand on Sam's arm. His face crumpled. "Sam…It was Randy…" Sam shifted, crouching down so he was on the same level as the chair and put his arm over Ronny's shoulder. "But Randy… He was in the room with Dean? Dirk said there was a piece of metal in his chest? Did he kill himself? Why didn't he wait for me to find him? Sam? Why?" Ronny looked up at him.

"I don't know," Sam said, his voice nearly unrecognizable to his own ears.

"But Dean was with him." Ronny leaned against Sam. "At least he wasn't alone." Ronny seemed to take solace in that fact.

"Yeah, he was with Dean." _Oh, god, Dean…Dean I…No. Not Dean. Not anymore. A victim._

"At least he wasn't a host," Ronny said quietly, then looked up at Sam in horror. "God, Sam, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it."

"I know, Ronny."

"But, Sam, Dean's alive. Maybe…"

"The victim is alive, Ronny. Dean's dead." _Did I just say that? Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry. I… Dean…What do I do? No, not Dean. Not anymore. I'm sorry, Dean, you're a victim, now, not my brother. I have to believe that right now, I have to—so I can go on, for both of us. _

"We both lost our brother," Ronny said quietly.

"Yeah, we did." Sam looked out the window, his arm over the other's shoulders, as Ronny sobbed.

_**To Be Continued**_


	5. I Die Through Madness

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I'm trying to catch up on my replies, I've been suffering from limited computer time and used my time to write. I'll get to you all, Promise!_

_A/N II: I'd like to take a moment and reiterate my warnings. __**WARNING**__ This story contains references to forced drug use, disturbing imagery, torture and human sacrifice. _

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Four**

_**I die through madness**_

The small library was quiet when Bobby walked in. The shelves seemed to absorb sound, and the heavy carpet made his passage nearly silent. He stopped, listening for the sound of voices, but none came. _I thought Sam came to talk to Ronny. _Bobby stepped towards the office. Ronny was there, papers spread across the desk.

"Ronny?" he said quietly.

"Hi, Bobby," Ronny said, looking up at him with red eyes. There were still tears tracking down the young man's face.

"How are you doing?" Bobby asked, coming in and sitting in the chair across from him.

"I'm better than I thought I'd be." Ronny put down his pen and smiled wanly. "I knew when they were taken that he wasn't coming back." Ronny took a deep breath. "I feel a little guilty, Bobby."

"Why?"

"I'm glad Randy's dead and not…" Robby stopped, a haunted look flashing in his eyes.

"Like Dean?" Bobby offered.

"Yeah." Ronny sighed and met Bobby's eyes. "Bobby, I wanted to talk to you, I'm worried about Sam."

"I am, too. Dean's alive and Sam…"

"That's not what I meant, Bobby," Ronny cut him off. "He's right, you know what being a host means—the man we knew is dead."

"No he's not," Bobby whispered, grief blossoming in his chest like an aching wound.

"Dean's gone, Bobby."

"No." Bobby shook his head in denial, but knew the truth of the young man's words. _Dean's dead. His body is here, but he's gone. Oh, god, he's gone. _Tears ran across his cheeks, he swallowed the lump in his throat, drawing a gasping breath. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to regain his composure as the last bit of hope he'd had died.

"I'm so sorry," Ronny said quietly.

"I knew, the day I found the Impala. I knew… But he's so strong, I hoped…"

"He survived seven entries. He is strong."

"Dean didn't survive," Bobby said softly. He wiped the tears off his face again and looked up at Ronny. "Why did you want to talk to me about Sam?"

"Sam's killing himself. I don't think he's slept for weeks—he only sleeps when his body won't let him go on anymore. He doesn't go home—I've found him in his office in the middle of the night. There's an edge to him—it worries me."

"I know I…"

"We caught one!" Ian shouted from the door of the library. Bobby jumped up and raced through the library, he heard Ronny following him.

"What?" Bobby asked as they reached the door.

"Mike—he caught one of the bastards. The guy came back to the house. Mike was there." Ian was leading the way down the hall. "We have him in a room. Dirk's watching him—Mike went to get Sam."

"He went to get Sam? We should hurry," Ronny said breathlessly. Bobby nodded and the three sped up.

When they reached the small room at the end of the corridor—well away from the offices and the patient rooms—Sam was already there. Dirk was standing in front of the man, Sam was leaning against the wall, Mike was standing beside him. Sam looked relaxed, but Bobby could see the tension in his body—the way his arms were crossed, the way he was holding his head.

"Tell us about the thing you serve," Dirk said. The man looked at him and smiled. Dirk hit him. "Tell us about the thing you serve," he repeated. The man started laughing.

"Maybe you should go," Bobby whispered to Ronny. He had a funny feeling the interrogation might get a little rough for Ronny to stomach.

"No. They killed Randy," Ronny said.

"Tell us." When the man didn't answer, Dirk hit him again. Bobby saw blood dripping out of the man's nose.

"Tell us about the hosts," Sam said. The icy calm in Sam's voice worried Bobby. He glanced over at the younger hunter, the look in Sam's eyes terrified him.

"Sam?" Bobby said softly.

"Tell us about the hosts," Sam repeated, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to the man.

"Hosts?" the man sneered. "You dishonor them, they are the Nameless Ones."

"How do you wipe their personalities?" The man didn't answer. Sam leaned on the chair arms, his face only inches away from the man's. "How?"

"We prepare them. We teach them they are the Nameless to prepare for their joining. It is our gift to the Nameless, so they can serve."

"How?" Sam said quietly. The alarms started blaring. Bobby looked out the door into the hallway. Staff members were running between the rooms, quickly sedating the few remaining hosts. He looked back at Sam and the man. The man's face had paled, he was sweating. "It's coming for you, isn't it?" Sam growled. The man shook his head mutely. "I'll make you a deal," Sam said, his voice dangerously calm. "You tell me how you remove the host's personality and I'll let him shoot you before the thing takes you." Sam pointed at Dirk.

"No."

"Okay." Sam turned away. Bobby thought he saw something at the edge of his vision, just the briefest impression of something moving into the room.

"Kill me," the man said.

"No," Sam said, turning back. "Not until I get the information I want."

"Kill me," the man begged, moaning in pain.

"It's here," Dirk said, drawing his gun and pointing it at the man.

"Don't!" Sam snapped. "Not until he tells us what we want to know."

"Sam…" Bobby said. Sam turned on him, his eyes flashing. Bobby stepped .

"Not until he talks," Sam grated out. The man's moans increased in volume.

"Please," the man begged. "I'll tell you what I know."

"How do you wipe the personality?" Sam asked.

"We don't, we prepare them for the joining."

"Not good enough," Sam said. The man's eyes were bulging in his face.

"Sam! Let me…" Dirk said.

"No, let him finish. What do you mean? There's nothing left when we find them," Sam said sounding very reasonable. And that panicked Bobby. _John got like that once or twice. It was never a good thing, and he usually felt bad when it was over. _Bobby's heart was pounding.

"We prepare them, but they are still there—until the joining. He takes them during the first joining."

"What?" Sam whispered.

"He takes them, we just prepare them, teach them they are the Nameless Ones who will serve him. Please you promised."

"Did you help prepare any hosts?" Sam asked calmly. Bobby saw a flush run up Sam's neck. _Oh god, this might be bad._

"Please…" The man's throat was undulating.

"DID YOU?" Sam shouted.

"I did. I did. Please…" The man's moans were fast becoming panting screams of terror mixed with pain. "I was honored to prepare several, including two Nameless Ones most favored."

"Most favored?" Dirk asked.

"The One of Five Joinings and the One of Seven Joinings."

"The One of Seven?" Sam whispered. Bobby and Ronny both moved towards Sam, but they didn't reach him before Sam lashed out at the man. Bobby grabbed him before Sam could take another swing. Sam yanked his arms free and walked to the door. The man was screaming, begging them to kill him. Bobby could feel the presence in the room, something horrific, the room was cold, the putrid smell of rotting flesh slowly filling it.

"Let it take him," Sam said, his back to them.

"Sam…"

"He killed Dean. Let his master take him." Sam walked out the door.

Dirk fired as the man's screams became deafening. Bobby would never be sure what killed the man—the shot or the moment when his body burst apart spraying them with blood. The room was silent for a long moment.

"I'll call a clean-up team," Dirk said, holstering his gun. He walked out the door. Ronny, Ian, Mike and Bobby followed him out.

"That edge I mentioned?" Ronny said, looking over. Fear was painted on his face. _He's afraid for Sam. Hell, I think he's afraid OF Sam. I know I am—a little of both. _

"I know, I'll go talk to him," Bobby said quietly.

**XXX**

Sam heard the man's screams stop abruptly. Part of him hoped that Dirk's shot had come too late. He walked down the hall, his hands shaking, slightly nauseous. What he'd just let happen bothered him. _Was it needed? What's happening to me? Since Dean disappeared…_

"Sam! I heard they caught one of them," CJ said, hurrying down the hallway.

"Yeah," Sam said grimly. "He's dead."

"Did he say anything?" CJ asked.

"He said the hosts are there when it takes them the first time." Sam heard his voice. There was no emotion in it.

"What?" Horror flared in her eyes—then deep compassion. She laid her hand on Sam's arm. "Maybe he was just saying that, Sam. Maybe…"

Sam shook his head. "No. He was telling the truth. He was proud of what he'd done."

"What did he do?"

"He prepared them. He… He was the one…" Sam saw understanding in her eyes. "How did De… the latest victim come through surgery?"

"Better than I hoped. We repaired the damage—it was extensive of course, but he came through. I'm glad we didn't wait. I hate leaving the wound open and this way he can start to heal. He might be able to get up a little tomorrow."

"What's the point?" Sam said under his breath.

"Sam, there's something you need to know. They thought they were helping…"

"What?" Sam asked, suddenly afraid of what she was going to say.

"It is standard operating procedure, Sam. It makes it easier to care for them…"

"What CJ?" Fear appeared as anger in the growled question.

"They shaved him and cut his hair. I'm sorry, Sam, I did leave instructions…"

"It's okay, CJ. No reason to treat this victim any different than the others. Did they move a bed in there for me? He's imprinted. It will be easier on him if I'm there."

"Yes, the bed's there." She smiled at him. "I'll be in my office for another half hour."

"I'll type a report on the interrogation as soon as I check on the victim," Sam said. CJ nodded and Sam watched as she walked down the hall towards her office.

"He is different, Sam," Bobby's voice came from behind him. "He was Dean."

"Was?" Sam asked, turning to Bobby. He noticed the older hunter's eyes were red. _He's been crying. _

"Yeah. Dean's gone," Bobby said quietly.

"I'm glad you understand that, Bobby."

"Sam, we need to talk."

_No, I can't not now. _"I need you and your team in Carlsbad tomorrow morning. You should go home and get some rest."

"No, Sam, we need to talk."

"No, Bobby," Sam said, anger simmering in his chest. "I need to check on the victim. He's out of surgery, and I don't want him to wake up alone."

"Sam…" Bobby grabbed Sam's arm.

"No! Not now!" Sam took a deep breath. "Please, Bobby. Just give me a day. Please."

Bobby looked at him, searching his eyes, finally he shifted his hand, laying his arm over Sam's shoulders. "Yeah, you're right, it's been a long day for all of us." He clapped Sam on the shoulder and pulled away.

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam walked towards Dean's room, Bobby walked with him, but stopped before Sam went in.

"I'll call before we leave," Bobby said and went down the hallway towards the offices.

Sam stood outside the door. His hands were shaking, palms sweating, the reality of what had happened was catching up with him again. With a deep breath he walked into the room. Dean was still unconscious. When Sam reached the bed he looked down. His brother's face was thin—almost unrecognizable, but it was Dean. There was nothing left to hide the truth of it, no way to deny it. It was Dean. The strong planes of his face were visible, the sweep of his eyelashes dark against his white face.

_Oh god. Oh, I'm so sorry. I… _"Dean…" he said, laying his hand on his brother's forehead, tears welling in his eyes. It was the first time he'd called his brother Dean since they found him. Sam sank down in the chair beside the bed, trying to control the threatening emotion. Tears were running down his face. "Dean… I'm sorry. I… Please, Dean. Please don't be dead." Now that he'd said his brother's name, he couldn't stop.

"Dean," Sam took a breath. "What happened? What did they do to you?"

**Five Weeks Earlier**

The stench crept into his brain long before consciousness found him. It roiled around in his body, filling his lungs, creating a chain reaction in his stomach that pulled him from the drug-induced haze into full consciousness in the space of two heartbeats. Dean's hands were tied behind his back—bound at elbows and wrists—but he managed to get to his knees before his stomach emptied. The dry heaves seemed never-ending, but he finally stopped the reaction long enough to get his bearings. _How much fun was that? God it stinks. Nothing like rotting bodies to perfume a place. _

The room was dark, only a tiny bit of light coming from under the doorway. Dean blinked and carefully moved away from the mess he'd made. As he did so, he realized his shoes were missing, he felt the stab of a splinter in his foot and he scooted across the floor. A groan came from the deep shadows to his left, a moment later the sound of vomiting followed.

"Hello?"

"Randy?" Dean asked.

"Dean? Is that you?" Randy groaned again. "Oh god, I'm going to…" The retching started again. Dean moved towards the sound, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could just make out a darker shadow—he guessed it was Randy.

"It's okay, it really stinks," Dean said as he reached the other. "Can you get up?" Randy nodded and they moved away from the mess until they ran into a wall. They leaned against it.

"Hey, are you two okay?" another voice asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "My name is Dean."

"I'm Randy."

"Where are you?" Dean asked.

"We're in the corner. We made it this far and stopped."

"You're tied up too?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, elbows and wrists. I'm Nick."

"I'm George."

"I'm Mitch."

"God, it stinks. How long have you been here?" Randy asked.

"We're not sure. But it's been long enough to get used to the stink," Nick said.

"It must have been a long time," Randy said with a grim laugh.

"Yeah. I think it must have been several days," Mitch said. "They dropped you in here a long time ago."

"Where are we?" Dean said, trying to peer through the dark at the others.

"I was grabbed in Clovis," Nick said. "I was investigating a missing persons case."

"You're a cop?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. We got a call from a task force working out of Roswell. People are going missing all over, and I was assigned to the case."

"Nick?" Randy said quietly. "Nick Anderson?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm Randy Schrader and this is Dean Winchester."

"From the task force?" Nick's voice was full of disbelief.

"Yep," Dean said. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too, a barbeque would have been better, though." Nick said. "So they got us? Do you think they grabbed us for a reason?"

"Maybe we were annoying them," Dean laughed a little. "They got us in Roswell."

"Mitch and George were snagged in Portales. I know I was moved, they came in and drugged me. We haven't moved since."

"So you think we're in Portales?" Randy asked.

"I think so. No one has come in since they brought in Mitch and George."

"Did you get a look at them?" Dean said.

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"They wear masks, it looks like they're made from some kind of stone," Nick said.

"Do they look like skulls?" Randy said. Dean looked over at the other man, he could just make out Randy's face in the gloom, he was frowning thoughtfully.

"Yeah. They differ in color, but yeah, they all look like skulls. Does it mean something?"

"It might," Randy said. "I'd like to get a look at them." He cleared his throat. "I'm thirsty."

"There's water over by the door—but I think it's drugged. George had some…"

"Yeah and tt messed with me big time," George said. "It was weird. I did mushrooms as an undergrad—it was kind of like that."

"Okay, so we avoid the water," Dean said. "We'll need to drink sometime."

"Or die of thirst," Nick said with a laugh.

"Always an option." Dean smiled. _For a cop, he's not bad at all. _"Do you know why the got you, Mitch?"

"George and I found a house…"

"Let me guess, full of bodies?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we reported it to the authorities and went back to work. Didn't think about it much until three days later when we ended up here." Mitch paused. "This is like that house, isn't it?" he said. "It is!"

"You're kidding me, that hadn't occurred to you before now?" Dean said, surprised. "What have you been talking about?"

"Anything but here," George said.

"Yeah, 'cause that's the way to deal with it." Dean snorted. _Yep, denial, it's more than a river._

"They aren't cops, Dean…" Nick said.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Can you tell me more about the masks? Or about how you felt after the water, George?" Randy said.

"Only what I told you," Nick said. "George screamed a little."

"Screamed?"

"I thought I saw… It was horrible, like something out of a horror movie." George stopped and swallowed audibly. "Blood, and a knife and this thing…"

"Did you get a look at it?" Dean asked eagerly.

"It was a really bad trip, man, it was just hallucinations."

"But it wasn't just a bad trip," Nick said suddenly. "Was it?"

"No, it wasn't," Dean answered. "It's what's been taking people—or why people are getting taken."

"Do you know what it is?" Mitch asked.

"You sound like you believe it," Randy said.

"I teach comparative religion and philosophy at Eastern. I'm pretty open to stuff."

"You're Mitch Keith?" Randy asked.

"Yeah."

"I had a friend who went to Eastern. She loved your class. How did you find the house?" Randy said.

"We were out hiking. George is in the anthro program and we were visiting a dig outside of town. It was as interesting as those things usually are," Mitch chuckled. "So we decided to take a hike. There was an old farmhouse about three miles from the dig. We smelled it before we got there. We thought we should check it out, just in case someone needed help."

"Um… Usually when you smell them, they're past help," Dean said.

"Yep," Nick echoed.

"But what does that…" George started, then stopped. The tiny crack of light had disappeared.

"Someone's coming in," Dean said, tensing. He leaned against Randy, offering support. _He's tough, but never been through anything like this. _

The door opened and light flooded the room. Dean blinked tears back from the sudden brightness. A group of men came in. Each had a skull mask over their face. They moved as one into the room, splitting apart and grabbing them. Dean kicked the two trying to get a hold of him. He saw someone across the room fighting as well, he guessed it was Nick. The men shoved him over and one put his knee on Dean's neck, the other grabbed Dean's legs and sat on his knees, delivering a swift punch to Dean's kidney. The pain was enough to make Dean stop struggling.

Another, smaller, man came into the room. His mask was more elaborate than the others, small panels of green made up the face, white marked the teeth and eyes and a dark black stone the hole where the nasal cavity would be on a skull.

"Nice look, freak," Dean said. The man sitting on his knees hit him again.

"Do not speak," he growled in an inhuman voice.

"Or, what, you'll kill me? Pretty sure that's happening anyway." Another punch brought tears to his eyes.

"He will like this one," the small man said, coming over. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. "You first, then." He nodded at the man on Dean's leg, the man leaned forward enough to immobilize Dean's feet.

"No!" Dean struggled against the hold. "No!" The needle bit into his foot. He felt a stinging warmth in his foot, a second later the sting was moving through his body. Dean's muscles started relaxing. "No…" Reality began to waiver. The masks began to take on a life of their own, the eyes moved, and when the man spoke the mouth seemed to move. The muscles in his neck gave way, Dean's head dropped to the floor.

The men holding him moved away, cutting the bonds that held him, then his shirt was dragged over his head. They picked him up and he was carried out of the room. Dean tried to get a look at where he was, his head refused to come up, he couldn't see anything other than the floor. _It's a house, genius. _Part of his brain was still rational, even as his body refused to obey. He was carried into the altar room. A group was gathered there, all with masks on. _Fun. Masquerade time. I wonder what Sam would make of this. _He was dropped on his knees and held upright by painful grip on his shoulder and a knee in the small of his back. _Funny I can feel pain. That might not be good._ He was aware the others had also been dragged into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Randy and the other three.

A drum began pounding, a steady rhythm. Dean felt his heart respond to the beat, felt each _thud _reverberate through his body. His head was pulled up by a hand in his hair. The wall behind the altar opened and a man stepped out. His mask was more elaborate than all the others and he was wearing a garland of red and yellow flowers around his neck. As he walked the garland moved and Dean saw the wound at the base of the man's sternum marking him as a host. Behind him were two men carrying trays. One tray had a green bowl, the other was covered in flowers. The drumbeat increased. They walked towards Dean and the others. The man in the lead stopped before Dean. He pulled off his mask.

Dean couldn't stop the gag, his stomach heaved and attempted to empty itself. His heart was still beating in time with the drum but his breath sped up as the horror-fueled nausea washed over him.

The man spoke, words that had no meaning filled Dean's head as surely as the drum filled his body. Dean's brain told him to run, to escape from what was before him, his body didn't respond and a huge rush of adrenaline ran through his body as the man reached out and cupped Dean's chin in his hand. Even though he tried to look away, the other's eyes held his. Dean felt pressure on his chest. _No, no. _Something razor sharp cut into him. Sounds exploded in Dean's head—the drum, a vast buzzing, the hammering drops of a heavy rain, screams. Pain shot through his body, robbing him of everything but the very edge of awareness.

Then the touch was gone.

Dean gasped for air. Dimly, he heard someone screaming, and maybe another voice raise in a scream. He had no idea how much time had lapsed before he was aware again. The man was standing in front of the altar, his hands raised in a gesture of blessing. He spoke—the words unrecognizable. Turning he lit a brazier at the end of the altar and turned back towards them. He came back to stand in front of Dean. The men holding Dean dragged him up to his feet. The man embraced Dean and grabbed the green bowl off the tray. He poured a little liquid over Dean's head. As it dripped down Dean's face, some ran across his lips. He could taste something sweet—and the coppery taste of blood. The man ran his hand over Dean's head and then placed a bloody hand on Dean's chest, over his heart..

"A Nameless One." The man put a garland of red and yellow flowers around Dean's neck.

The man moved away. Dean watched from the corner of his eye as the others were doused with blood and received flowers. Randy was wearing the red and yellow, as was another—the one Dean thought might be Nick. The other two received all red garlands and the man said "Offering" when he placed it over their heads. When he was finished, the man stepped back to the altar. "They are chosen. Feed me."

One of the two wearing a red garland was pulled towards the altar. Dean heard a strangled cry of "No, George, no!"

George was laid down on the altar, men holding onto his arms and legs. _No, oh god._ The man carrying the tray with the bowl stepped to the altar. The other put his tray down and walked over. He picked up the bowl and poured the last of the blood mixture over George's body. Forcing George's mouth open, he reached in and pulled out his tongue, ramming a spike through it. Blood gushed over George's face as he began to scream incoherently—sounds of utter terror. The man reached for the tray again, he had a black knife in his hands. Dean tried to look away, his head held immobile, his eyes refused to close, as George was cut open. The screams increased, panting shrieks of horror-filled pain.

The man reached into George's chest.

_No, no, god no. _Even though they were holding him, even though the drug was still affecting him, Dean's body gave way. Darkness claimed him and George's screams were mercifully silenced.

Consciousness returned slowly. At first it was only an awareness of smell—the stench of death and the overly sweet smell of some kind of flower. He recognized the scent and memory rushed back. He swallowed the bile the rose and tried to move. He couldn't. His was shackled to something, metal biting into his wrists and ankles.

_Oh, god, I think I'm going to be a host. Sam? If that happens… When you find me, Sam, just kill me? _

_Please, Sammy, if that happens, kill me. Please, kill me._

**Present**

It was quiet, there was a soft smell, light and pleasant, and so unlike the scent he'd known his whole life. The pain was different too, there was still pain, but it was muted, almost gentle. He was warm, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been warm. It had been cold until… Until he came here. He wondered how long it had been. Time didn't mean anything.

He remembered them finding him, he remembered the fear of the faceless ones as they came into his small prison. Then there was another, not faceless, that one spoke to him, put something over him that helped him be warm. That one had been gentle and the drug that one had given him was different, too. It wasn't pain, it wasn't the odd half sleep of the other, no, that one had given him the gift of sleep, just sleep. Silent, dark, gentle.

A soft sound caused him to open his eyes. He looked around the room he was in, it was surprising to open his eyes to light. Turning his head he saw that one, the one who had saved him, sitting in a chair beside the bed. That one's eyes were closed, dark smudges under his eyes, his body posture, even in repose, spoke of exhaustion and pain. That one sighed again and opened his eyes. He smiled and spoke. The sound was comforting. That one was repeating one sound over and over. He'd speak a little then repeat the sound again. After a few minutes, that one pointed to himself, patting himself on the chest and repeated another sound, over and over again.

"Sam," that one said and patted his chest. "Sam," that one repeated. "Sam."

He tried to repeat the sound, but it wouldn't come, only the pain that spoken words caused him. He closed his eyes and made a sound in his throat, just a sound and nothing more. There was a gentle hand on his head, comforting, the thumb sweeping across his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked at the one who had saved him, that one—Sam. There were tears in that one—Sam's—eyes and he started repeating another sound over and over.

"Dean," he said. "Dean." Sam repeated the sound with each stroke of the thumb on his forehead, his voice gently pleading. "Dean." The tears were running down that one—Sam's—face, dripping off his nose and chin as he spoke the word over and over, his voice breaking on each repetition.

He reached out his hand to Sam, that one took it in his, and pressed it against his chest, still repeating the sound.

He wondered if it was name. He didn't know, but if the one who saved him wanted to call him that, it was okay. And it was nice to have a name. It was nice to have someone speaking to him, holding his hand warm against their chest, to have a name… Before it all ended.

_**To Be Continued**_


	6. Long Overwhelmed Be, And Swallow'd Up

_A/N: I've back up a little to Sam's POV telling Dean his name. I'd like to offer this chapter to the memory of Wolfman, the best Black Smoke Maine Coon Cat ever. He helped inspire the events of Feral. __**Warnings as before. **_

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Five**

_**Long overwhelmed be, and swallow'd up**_

The room was quiet and warm, the soft beeping of the heart monitor a comforting sound. Sam leaned back in the chair, his eyes still on Dean's face. _It is Dean, I can't hide from it. I can't. _Once he'd spoken his brother's name, the icy calm that held his emotions in check, cracked. As he watched Dean sleep, he could feel himself fraying at the edges. _Don't be dead. Please. _

Exhaustion was finally catching him. He'd managed to avoid sleep for almost three days, but it was getting harder and harder to resist. His body was starting to give out. He knew he was pushing himself, but as long as he didn't sleep, he didn't dream. Sam had also discovered over the last weeks that if he went long enough—until his body finally gave out—he could rest for an hour or two without nightmares.

Nightmares full of bees, of buzzing creatures, of exploded bodies and vacant-eyed hosts.

Nightmares of Dean screaming his name, begging Sam to find him, to save him.

Sam sighed, his eyes closing against his will as sleep caught him. The world dropped away into a soft, silent dark, free for the moment of the nightmare images of his life. A dream woke him, not the horrific scenes that chased him day and night, but a dream of his childhood, waking in a hospital to find Dean smiling down at him. The twist of pain that image caused brought him to awareness. He sighed and opened his eyes.

Dean was looking back at him.

"Hey, Dean. Good to see you awake. Your surgery went well. CJ said you could maybe get up a little tomorrow. Bobby's still here, Dean. I'm sending him to Carlsbad tomorrow, but he'll be back." Dean blinked at him, watching him, his feral eyes fixed on Sam. _Oh god, Dean, what do I do? How can we go on? _"Do you remember me at all, Dean? I'm Sam, your brother, Sam." Sam pointed to himself. "Sam." He patted his chest, watching Dean the whole time. "Sam."

Dean took a breath, Sam held his, waiting. _Please, Dean, please remember me. Please. _The calm cracked further, spider webs beginning to shatter the ice. Dean tried to speak, his body arching in pain as he tried. Sam put his hand down on Dean's forehead, calming him, stopping the attempt that was causing the pain. Dean closed his eyes and made a little sound in his throat.

"Dean. You're Dean. Do you remember?" Sam stroked his brother's forehead with his thumb. "Dean. My brother." His voice cracked, tears running down his face. "Dean." His brother reached out, Sam took Dean's hand and pressed it against his chest. "Dean, please come back, please, Dean."

Dean made the sound in his throat again, a small grunt. It sounded different than the terrified whimper, different than the other sounds Dean had made. _Maybe it's my name, or how he can express it. _Sam smiled. Dean's eyes closed. "It's okay, Dean, sleep. I'll be here." Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand. "I'll be here." Sam leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close as well. Comforted by his brother's hand, he drifted into sleep.

"Sam?" Bobby said quietly. "Sam?" A gentle shake. Sam opened his eyes. Bobby was standing beside him.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said, sitting up. He glanced at the windows, bright morning sun filtered through the tinted glass. "What time is it?"

"About seven. We're getting ready to head to Carlsbad."

"Good. Check out the caves, I'm not sure they could be using them, since they're so public, but let's check them out anyway. And we had the report of a possible house. Talk to Rich Sanzaro at the police department."

"How are you?" Bobby asked, giving Sam and intent look. "How long did you sleep?"

"Most of the night. It was here around three, it took victim nine."

"CJ told me. Sam, I… I don't want you going out on a raid today." Bobby put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Give yourself a day or two."

"I doubt we'd be out on a raid today." Sam stopped when Bobby frowned in concern. "I won't. I'll stay here, it's better anyway, he's imprinted."

"What are you going to do?" Bobby asked gently.

"I don't know." Sam sighed and stood. The small grunt came from the bed and Dean's hand latched around Sam's wrist. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "Dean, it's okay." Dean sighed and relaxed, but didn't let go of Sam's wrist.

"I wished we'd learned more from the one we caught."

"We did learn something, Bobby. We learned they call the hosts the Nameless Ones. It's something new, it might lead us somewhere. I'm going to get a cup of coffee and start in on it."

"You need to eat," Bobby said gruffly.

"What?"

"When was the last time you ate, Sam?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, I thought so. I need to get going. CJ said she's come by a little later to check on the two of you."

"Thanks, Bobby. Call me after you talk to the cops down there."

"Sure." The older hunter turned to leave.

Dean started grunting, the sound rapidly becoming a whimper of fear. Sam looked down at him. "Dean?"

"What is it?" Bobby asked, frowning.

"He can sense when it's here."

"The alarm hasn't gone off, Sam."

"It must be here, Bobby. We need to sedate him now. It can't find him, not now." Sam started digging frantically through the supply drawer. He found what he was looking for and quickly administered the drug. Dean's eyes closed as the alarm started blaring. CJ ran into the room seconds later. "He's out, take care of the others," Sam snapped.

"Number twelve!" The shout rang down the hall.

Sam ran out of Dean's room and down to room twelve. It was already there, the victim screaming, his chest undulating as the thing moved under his skin. Before Sam could draw his gun, the man's chest ripped open and the heart exploded. Sam saw it again, a brief fleeting impression of the thing.

"Did you see that?" Bobby asked.

"What?" Sam turned to him.

"I don't know, but I know I saw something."

"Me, too," CJ said.

"Why?" Sam said, looking from one to the other. "Why are we suddenly seeing it? What does that mean?"

"It's taking them faster too," CJ pointed out.

"Dean!" Sam ran out the door and back to his brother's room. Dean was asleep, his face peaceful.

"Sam, what is it?" Bobby asked as he and CJ came into the room

"I…" He turned to Bobby and CJ. "I… Could it be looking for Dean?" Sam walked to the bed and looked at his brother. "Bobby?"

"I don't know. If it is…"

"It only a matter of time before it finds him. How soon can I take him home?" Sam asked, looking at CJ.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Sam. He's weak. He's just had surgery…"

"Do you think I can take him home tonight?" He looked at CJ, she hesitated. "Maybe it will help. If he could tell us what happened…"

"Sam…" Bobby said.

"If it finds him, nothing we've done to save him matters," Sam pleaded.

CJ nodded slowly. "It likes to come at night, he would probably be better off. We need to make sure he eats a little before he goes."

"Thank you." He looked at Bobby. "We've suspected for a long time it has a contact here, someone helping it get in and out."

"Yeah but we're not absolutely sure," Bobby said quietly.

"We never are, but do you have any other explanation? Do you, Bobby?" Sam controlled the raging anger in his voice. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember, Sam, all too well." Bobby's eyes were haunted.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee before he wakes up." Sam turned away from the look on Bobby's face. _Of course he remembers. _

**Four Weeks Earlier**

The sun was setting as Sam got out of the shower in his office. He stopped to look out the window on his way back to the desk, automatically checking the Impala. It had become a habit over the past six days, checking the Impala, giving himself the momentary illusion that Dean was still there, somewhere. Sam sighed and dropped behind the desk, picking up the rancid cup of coffee. He glanced over at the coffeemaker. _No, I haven't turned it on since he was taken, I'm not turning it on now. _

He opened the laptop and ran through the reports. He'd finally talked Bobby into taking a team out to investigate a rumor of a house in Clovis. The team had found an abandoned house, but nothing else. Another team was following up on the last lead from Dean and Randy. Sam was sticking close to Roswell. He had a feeling that it was all centered there somewhere and their best bet for finding his brother was there.

The dead ends that had plagued his research before Dean was taken frustrated him. Now each dead end, each wall he hit, added to a growing panic and sense of desperation that was getting harder and harder to control. It was under control, barely, or at least shoved away far enough to let him work. He knew Bobby was worried, he could see it in the older hunter's eyes every time they spoke. _I have to go on, and this is the only way. _

Sam rifled through his notes for the thousandth time since Dean had been taken. His whole life now dated from that moment. _When Dean was taken. _Everything had stopped, nothing from before mattered, only that—and the need to find his brother, the driving need to destroy the thing that took Dean, the desperate rage that was slowly consuming him.

"Nothing, there's nothing here," he said aloud in the quite office. Resisting the urge to throw the papers, and his computer, across the room, he straightened them, aligning them with the edge of the desk, carefully smoothing a bent corner on one page. He got up and paced the ten steps to the door, turned and walked the ten steps back to his desk, four around it, two to the coffeemaker on top the file cabinet. Sam stopped and straightened the cups, coffeepot and spoons, then walked the three steps to the bathroom door. Then around again.

"Sam?" Ronny said from the door.

"Hey, Ronny." Sam walked back to his desk and leaned on it. "Thanks," Sam said, taking the cup of coffee Ronny handed him.

"You should go home for awhile, Sam," Ronny said, dropping into one of the chairs.

"No," Sam snapped, Ronny frowned at him. "I can't, not yet. I went home two nights ago, but Harry kept looking for Dean. I couldn't take it."

"Harry? The dog was looking for Dean?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "How's the research?"

"I'm not getting very far. Lots of dead ends." Ronny sighed. "It's just hard to believe there's so little information out there."

"Yeah, I know. Especially with the body count."

"I did find something yesterday."

"What? Why didn't you mention it them?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know if it's even related to this, Sam. I stopped to get something to drink on my way back from Carrizozo. There was this little fruit stand up in the valley and they had fresh juice, so I stopped."

"Yeah?" Sam said impatiently.

"Remember the day you were attacked by bees?" Ronny looked at him, Sam nodded. "And we were buzzed by something big?" Sam nodded again. "When I stopped at the fruit stand, I walked to the edge of the stand to look at the gardens and something buzzed me. Sounded just the same."

"What was it? Why was it out there? Are they involved?" Sam rattled off the questions so fast Ronny didn't have time to answer.

"That's just it, that's why I wasn't sure if I should even mention it."

"What?" Sam wanted to shout, instead it came out as a flat tone.

"It was out in the flowers, you know?"

"Ronny, what was it?"

"Hummingbird," Ronny mumbled.

"A _what_?"

"It was a hummingbird, Sam. Sounded just like the thing that buzzed us."

"A hummingbird?" Sam shook his head. "What would that have to do with… Hummingbird?"

"Yeah, I know, that's why I didn't mention it." Ronny looked at Sam. "Do you think it was just a freak thing? It was there, but not related?"

"We need to go back to that house," Sam said, grabbing the keys. "Coming?"

"Yes, of course!" Ronny stood and followed Sam. They stopped and let CJ and Dirk know where they were going, then headed out of the building.

Sam dropped down into the driver's seat of the Impala, and turned the ignition on, automatically reaching for the stereo, then stopped himself. _No, I can't. _He sighed and pulled out of the lot.

"You can't listen to the stereo either?" Ronny asked quietly. "The day Randy was taken, I got in the car and his Led Zeppelin CD was in the stereo. I couldn't listen, I haven't had it on since that day."

"Yeah." Sam glanced over at Ronny. "We'll find them."

"If we do, Sam, what will… Do you think they…?" Ronny swallowed. "I need to focus, that won't get me anywhere."

"I know." _If I think about what's happened, what might be happening, I can't go on. To find Dean I have to be able to go on. I'm sorry, Dean. I can't let myself think about what's happening to you. I can't. I hope you can forgive me._

They finally reached the house. Sam got out of the car, forcing memories of Dean away. He and Ronny walked around the back, to where the bees had attacked Sam. Sam wandered along the fence, peering into the hedge, looking for the nest he'd spotted right before the bees attacked him.

"The bees are gone," Ronny said from the other side of the yard. "No sign of them anywhere. I'm going in the house."

"Be careful," Sam called.

"I will. You too, Sam."

Sam nodded and continued looking in the greenery. He spotted what he was looking for hanging from a vine. Sam pulled out his pocket knife and cut it down. It was a small nest, lichen, twigs and grass on the outside with a soft silky interior. _It does look like a hummingbird nest, but why is it here? Does it mean something? _

"Sam!" Ronny shouted. Sam turned and ran into the house.

"Ronny?"

"Here," Ronny's voice came from down the hall.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"I think they might have been back since we were here. Come here." Ronny let the way back into the altar room. Only a small piece of the altar remained. "Look." Ronny pointed to a sticky puddle of congealing blood covered with flies. Sam walked over and crouched down, looking at the stain. He scraped at it with his pocket knife.

"This is…"

"Fresh," Ronny finished for him. "Very fresh." Ronny paced around the room. "If this had been here, we would have picked it up." Ronny pointed to a garland of flowers, red and yellow, splashed with blood. "Why is it here?"

"I don't know. We know they were at that house in Clovis until three days ago."

"But we didn't find any hosts, Sam." Ronny was frowning. "Do you think… No."

"What?"

"Why would they come back? And why is this here? After we destroyed the place?" Ronny looked up and met Sam's eyes. "After Randy and Dean destroyed the altar. Sam this is the altar room they destroyed."

"Do you think this was left here for us to find?" Sam asked, looking around the room. _He's right, this was left for us. _

"Maybe. But then, Sam," Ronny paused.

"What?"

"How did they know we'd be here to find it? We told CJ and Dirk we were coming."

"There were several people in the room with us. Anyone one might have heard."

"So it has someone working with us? Is that how it's getting in to the clinic?" Ronny walked out of the room and onto the front porch. He looked up at Sam. "How can someone we know be helping that thing? The thing that took Randy and Dean?"

"It was someone with us when we were here," Sam said suddenly sure. "Or on another raid before they were taken."

"Why do you think that?"

"Whoever it was knew who destroyed the altar room. They went after Randy and Dean, they were the two who were…" Sam stopped.

"Destroying the altars. Three the week before they were taken, including the two abandoned houses. Is that why they were taken?" Ronny asked softly.

"Yeah, maybe." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "We need to get back to the clinic."

"Why?"

"I have a funny feeling." Sam strode down the stairs to the Impala, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. Dread had blossomed in his chest, and with it a fluttering of panic, of what he would find when they returned.

Bobby was just pulling in as they arrived. He got quickly out of the car and came over to Ronny and Sam. "Nothing there, they were long gone by the time we got there, Sam," Bobby said without preamble.

"Did you find anything at all?" Sam asked as the three walked towards the building.

"Not really, although Ian claims…"

"Yeah?"

"He said he was attacked by a hummingbird."

"Maybe it's not just coincidence," Ronny said.

"What?" Bobby said.

"There was a hummingbird nest at the house we raided two weeks ago." Sam held out the small nest to Bobby. "At least I think it's a hummingbird nest."

"Bees and hummingbirds?" Bobby's voice held a note of disbelief.

"We know the bees are connected, Bobby and…" Sam opened the door of his office and stopped. The room stank. "No," he whispered when he saw what was on his desk. _No, no, please no. _.

"Sam?" Ronny said quietly.

"Dean."

"What?" Bobby demanded.

Sam walked to the desk and picked up the blood-soaked t-shirt that was sitting, neatly folded, on top of a pair of equally blood-soaked jeans. The only things not covered in blood were the boots set beside the clothes. "Dean… These are his, he was wearing them the day he was taken."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked. Sam looked at him. "Yeah, you're sure."

"You should check your office, Ronny, and let CJ and Dirk know we need to talk," Sam said. Ronny turned to go. "Some place else. Tell them we need to talk away from here, but don't tell anyone where." Ronny nodded.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"They've got someone inside, Bobby. One of them is here, working with us. They knew where Ronny and I were going today, they left Dean's clothes for me to find. Oh god."

"What?"

"There was fresh blood on the floor at the house."

"Do you think it was Dean's?"

"I don't know. But I think that's what they want us to think."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Bobby." Sam sighed and carefully folded the bloody t-shirt. "But if I find out who's working with that thing…" Sam stopped himself, surprised at the hatred, at the white-hit rage that suddenly pulsed through him. _When I find who they are, they die._

_I promise you that, Dean, no matter what happens, when I find them, they die._

**Present**

He was surrounded in soft warmth. It felt good to wake to warmth, to something close to comfort. There was a regular sound, a beep, coming from his left. He knew the beep was connected to him somehow. Also on his left was a quiet tapping sound. It was comforting and oddly familiar. He opened his eyes, the room was bright, a shaft of sunlight on the bed. He looked over, that one—the one who rescued him—Sam—was sitting beside him. Sam had something on his lap, the tapping sounds were his fingers on the… the… keys. His mind supplied the word and a few seconds after that the word "computer" drifted into his awareness. He wasn't sure what it meant, but it was connected to the thing on Sam's lap.

He took a deep breath. "Mfph?" He made the sound in his throat.

"Dean?" Sam looked up at him and smiled.

He knew the sound "Dean" meant something to Sam. He reached out his hand and Sam took it in his. "Mfph."

Sam spoke, the sounds were gently pleading. "Dean" was repeated throughout the other sounds. Sam closed the computer with his free hand and set it on the floor. He kept talking, repeating "Dean" every few sounds.

"Mfph?"

Sam gently extracted his hand and reached for something on the table. He spoke, repeating another word. "Food, food, food. Dean. Food." Sam took a sip of what was in the bowl and smiled. Sam dipped a spoon into the bowl and held it out. "Food, Dean."

The thought of food caused pain to lance through his body, pain connected with the time before that one—Sam—had rescued him. He wasn't supposed to eat. It was wrong. It caused pain to lash up his back, like the bite of a stinging insect. He turned his head away, whimpering in pain.

"Dean, food," Sam said softly. He was saying another word over and over, it was connected to the other two. "Please," Sam said.

"Mfph?" The rich smell of the broth was causing his stomach to rumble, the remembered pain being overridden by the need to eat. He turned back to Sam. "Mfph." Sam smiled and tipped the broth into his mouth, not much, only enough to wet his tongue. It was good. "Mmmfffphh!" he said, greedily waiting for more. Sam fed him another spoonful, this one big enough to swallow. Warmth tracked down his throat and into his stomach.

"Dean," Sam said, with a smile, there were tears in his eyes. Sam gave him another spoonful of the broth and another. Sam laughed when some escaped the spoon and dribbled over his chin. "Dean," Sam said, shaking his head and mopping his face with a napkin. When the small bowl was empty, Sam set it on the table.

"Mfph?" He reached out for Sam again, needing the warmth of that one's hand.

Sam pressed his hand against his chest. "Dean," he said, then a series of sounds. One repeated. He was beginning to realized that the repeated sounds were the important ones. The ones that mattered most to Sam. "Dean," Sam said, a few more sounds, then the repeated word. "Home."

_Home. _The word had meaning, more that just a sound. It meant something—something important. The word came with a series of images. A large black car, someone tall, a voice. He blinked, trying to bring the face on that person into focus. Frustration started to well up as he couldn't "see" who it was. He could hear the gentle tone of his voice, see the broad shadow his shape, but there was no face. He growled in frustration. He had to know who that was. Who was "home"?

Another flash of awareness was suddenly there. Memory. He knew it was a memory. The voice, the shape of the person who was "home" to him. The person—home—had been there in that place where he'd been held captive. The person had been there talking to him, urging him up with gentle hands, and an urgent voice.

Then screams.

Blood.

Grief so profound it was a physical pain.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam was holding him down as he cried out. "Dean!"

"Mfph. Mfph." He was sobbing, desperate. Sam pulled him up and into his arms as he wept. He was crying for the loss, crying for the death of the one who had been home, crying because he was alone.

"Dean," Sam said. "Please."

He held on to that one—to Sam—to the one who had saved him. Sam was speaking to him, soft sounds that made no sense, but comforted him nonetheless. The three words "Dean, please, home" were scattered amongst the other sounds.

His home was gone.

Dead.

Taken from him.

If the one who saved him wanted to take him home, then he would go. It was nice to have a name, to have something like home.

Maybe it couldn't find him at that one's home. Maybe he could escape it, even for awhile, before it came for him again.

_**To Be Continued**_


	7. O Let Me Dying Live, Til Death Doth Come

_A/N: Sorry this update took a little longer than I said in some review replies. Real life popped by. Topped off with a lovely visit from Abni—who had to have a tour of all the places I set my stories. _

_**Warning this chapter contains references to forced drug use, human sacrifice and torture.**_

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Six**

_**O let me dying live, till death doth come**_

The room was growing quiet, Dean's desperate cries giving way to soft sobs. Sam held his brother, gently rocking him, making soothing sounds, unsure what to do. He'd given Dean some broth, and told his brother he was planning on taking him home. Something there broke Dean. Sam wasn't sure what it had been, but one moment Dean had been quietly listening, the next he'd been screaming, weeping, desperately clinging to Sam.

"What is it, Dean?" he asked softly. He was stroking Dean's head as his brother had stroked his when he'd been a child, terrified of the things in the night, inconsolable, until Dean drove the dark away and held him, letting Sam cry until he fell asleep. The memory brought tears to Sam's eyes, an ache to his chest. _How do we go on, Dean? _

Dean's sobs finally quieted, but he didn't pull away from Sam. He stayed with his head buried against Sam's shoulder, his hands fisted in Sam's shirt. Dean made the sound Sam was coming to recognize as his name—or how Dean expressed it. "Mfph?" Dean whispered.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam gently pulled away and reached for a tissue, carefully wiping Dean's face. "We'll go home soon." Dean frowned, tears back in his eyes. "No, Dean, it's okay." Sam said, taking Dean's hand. His brother latched on like a drowning man.

"Sam?" Ronny was at the door.

"It's alright, Ronny, come in," Sam said.

As Ronny walked in, Dean turned to look at him. A frown slowly formed on his brother's face. Ronny stopped beside the bed. Dean reached out towards Ronny, making a small sound, half question, half whimper. Ronny leaned over and Dean put his hand on Ronny's face for a minute, patting him, the frown deepening, then he shook his head.

"Dean?" Sam said. His brother turned back to him, tears on his cheeks again.

"Oh my god," Ronny whispered.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Do you think he's remembering Randy? We look—looked—a lot alike." Ronny gently took Dean's hand from his face and held it in his.

"Maybe." Sam watched his brother for a minute, then looked at Ronny. "What's up?"

"All the reports are in. I didn't know if you wanted to read them now or later?"

"I want to pick them up them before we leave," Sam said, glancing at the clock. The day was slipping away fast, it was already late afternoon.

"Before you leave?" Ronny asked.

"I'm going to take Dean home. I think it's looking for him here."

"I was worried about that, Sam. I meant to talk to you before. We still don't know who it is." Ronny paused. "I'm not sure why it hasn't found him."

"I don't know." Sam glanced at his brother. "Maybe his amulet has something to do with it? They left it when they took him. I'm not sure, but I'm not taking any chances. He's safer at home…" He stopped when Dean whimpered. _It's home. Something about that word is upsetting him. _"And maybe being there will help him."

"You mean help him come back?"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed.

"Do you think he can, Sam?"

"I'm not sure I know. If anyone can, Dean can." Sam sighed, trying to keep the ache in his chest from breaking loose. Except for the moments in the shower right after they found Dean, he hadn't let go of the emotion, hadn't let the calm break. It was slowly shattering, the iron control he'd had was getting harder and harder to maintain. "It doesn't matter. He's still my brother."

"Not just a victim?" Ronny said gently.

"He's a victim, yeah. But he's Dean, too, I was…" Sam stopped himself. _Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"Grief does funny things. You needed to believe that at first, Sam. It wasn't a betrayal." Ronny sighed. "I would have done the same thing if it had been Randy. What will you do? When this is finally over?"

"Over?" Sam looked at Ronny. "I haven't thought about that. Maybe I'll ask CJ if we can stay. Dean will need a home." He said the word before he realized what he was saying. Dean made a soft keening sound. "I'm sorry," Sam said to his brother. "I can't think about that now, Ronny. We need to get through this first."

"Yeah, you're right, Sam."

"I need to go by my office, pick up the reports and get a few things before we go back to the house."

"Would you like me to sit with Dean?" Ronny smiled at Dean. "He seems okay with me."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam stood. Dean's grip on his hand tightened. "Dean, it's alright, I'm just going to my office, I'll be right back." Dean held on, making a small noise. Sam patted his brother's shoulder. "I'll be right back, Dean. You're safe with Ronny." He tried to pull away, Dean's grip became desperate. His brother moved to swing his legs off the bed. _I can't leave him, he needs to be with me. He's imprinted, leaving him would be cruel._

"Maybe he should go with you, Sam." Ronny looked at him. "I'll check the corridor and make sure it's clear." Ronny patted Dean's hand and set it on the bed.

"Thanks." Sam unhooked Dean from the IV and the heart monitor. "Come on, Dean, it's okay." He helped Dean up, his brother's hand still locked around his. Sam picked up his laptop and led Dean to the door, waiting until Ronny gave the all-clear before moving into the hall. Sam looked at Dean as they walked down the corridor. Dean's eyes were fixed on Sam, never deviating. Sam opened the door to his office and drew Dean in. "Have you heard anything from Bobby?" he asked as they walked to the desk.

"Nothing yet," Ronny said.

"He knows I plan to take Dean back to the house," Sam said, carefully avoiding the word home. He smiled at Dean. "It'll only take a minute, Dean." He watched Dean for a moment. His brother's eyes slid away and glanced around the room without interest. Sam sighed, the ache in his chest threatening to burst. Suddenly Dean made a sound and ran towards the window. If Sam hadn't had still had his hand, Dean would have run into the glass at full speed. Dean pressed his hand against the glass, making a desperate sound. Then the "Mfph" for Sam.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam said, putting his free hand on Dean's back, trying to calm him. Dean turned to him, tears on his cheeks, making a whimpering noise. He looked back out the window, hitting the glass with his hand. Sam followed his brother's look. "The Impala."

"What?" Ronny said.

"He's looking at the Impala." Sam pulled Dean from the window. "We'll be there in a minute, Dean, just let me get my things." Dean held onto Sam, eyes still locked on the Impala, as Sam gathered up the pile of papers from his desk, shoving them into his bag with his computer. "Ronny?"

"Checking, Sam." Ronny walked out into the hall and back. "All clear to the back exit. I'll check the lot." He opened the door and waved Sam on. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck tonight."

"Thanks, Ronny." Sam led Dean to the door. As they cleared the portal, Dean pulled loose from Sam and stumbled quickly towards the Impala. Sam followed, one hand out to catch Dean if he fell. His brother reached the car and stopped. He stood beside it for a moment before reaching a hand out and putting it on the roof of the car. He looked at Sam, tears pouring down his face.

"Mfph, mfph," he whispered. Sam put his arm over his brother's shoulders. Dean leaned against him, patting the top of the car.

Sam drew him towards the passenger door, and opened it, gently lowering Dean onto the seat. Sam closed the door, Dean curled up against it as soon as it shut. Sam walked quickly around the car, checked the lot one more time, and dropped into the driver's seat. As soon as he turned the ignition on, he reached over for Dean's hand. His brother grabbed it, sobbing softly.

"Dean?"

Dean looked over at him, tears sparkling on his cheeks, his eyes no longer vacant—the emptiness had been replaced by grief. It broke Sam's heart seeing the shattered look on Dean's face.

_Oh god, Dean, what did they do to you? _

**Three Weeks Earlier**

A tiny puff of air blew across his face. Dean registered the movement, wondering what it meant. _The morning fun is getting ready to begin, I bet. I wonder if it's actually morning? _Dean sighed, trying to lift himself enough to take the strain off his wrists and shoulders. They'd left him hanging the night before, it was the first time. Usually they let him hang until he was sure his shoulders would pull out of the sockets, then came in and moved him to the bed, chaining wrist and ankles to the steel bed frame. The night before had been different. No one had come to take him down. Dean sensed something was coming, he wasn't sure what, but the routine had been slowly changing over the last few days.

The door opened, the bright shaft of light blinding him. Two men in colored stone masks came in. They never saw their captors' faces, just the different masks. Dean was learning to tell them apart, or at least know what they had in store for them, from the various masks they wore. Dean looked to his left, checking on Randy and Nick, he could see Nick trying to ease the strain on his wrists. Randy was just hanging. He'd stopped speaking the day before.

"Randy?" Dean whispered. It was all he could manage. The tiny sips of water they received were enough to keep them alive, but not enough to make speaking easy.

"He's alive," Nick rasped.

"Don't speak!" A hard hand connected with Dean's face. He'd been expecting it. _And every time it just gets more fun. _"You offend him!"

"Good," Dean said. Another blow and the sting of something across his back. Pain has become such a constant he no longer registered the separate offenses.

"What's your name?" the one wearing a green mask with red eyes asked the room at large.

"Dean."

"Nick."

There was a long pause, then a whispered "Randy."

"Good job, Randy," Dean said.

The red-eyed one walked to Dean, standing in front of him. Dean wondered for the hundredth time how they managed to see out of the masks. As far as he could tell there was no opening for the eyes. "You are Nameless."

"Dean, my name is Dean," he said, the words grating against his too-dry throat.

"Your voice offends him."

"Maybe you should just let me go, then." Dean tried for a smirk.

"He wants you," the other one said. Dean looked at him. Black eyes in a pink-shell mask glittered back at him.

"No, I bet he wants you. You're the one in pink." The hand lashed out and caught him, pain exploded in his shoulders and wrists. Dean got a toe down and stopped swinging before the motion tore his arms out.

"Dean," Nick hissed.

"DO NOT SPEAK!" Red-eyes shouted. He nodded at the other. The one in the pink mask lifted Dean off the hook he was hanging from and held him still as the other rammed a needle in Dean's arm. The drug was taking affect faster and faster, the pain shooting through his body as reality wavered at the edge. _It feels almost like my skin gets a little loose. _He was dropped to the floor, his legs, as always, refusing to hold him up after a dose of the drug. _Of course, the no food for… for… How long has it been?—doesn't make it any better, either._ Dean could hear them taking the others down, then they were back in front of him. A strong hand grabbed his hair and dragged him up.

"What is your name?" Red Eyes asked.

Dean took a deep breath, the drug affected his ability to respond. It was getting harder and harder to resist their commands. Once it was in his system his body refused to obey his commands. If they told him to keep his eyes open, they stayed open, no matter what he did. If they said walk, his body would walk, even if he tried to stop.

"What's your name?" Red Eyes asked again.

"Dean," he whispered. Pain shot through his body. He idly wondered if it was an affect of the drug or if they'd hit him. "It's Dean." The pain again, this time he was sure he'd been hit.

"He still resists," the voice came from behind him.

"It's why he wants him," Red Eyes said. "Open your eyes." Dean's eyes popped open. _Damn. _

"Tell him I don't dance," Dean said, forcing the words out as pain lashed through his body.

"You'll dance today." Red Eyes pulled another syringe out of his robe. "Give me your arm." Dean's body reacted, raising his arm, chains and all. The needle stabbed into his elbow. There was an explosion of pain, of red-tinged light, the sensation of dropping down, then nothing.

Fresh air was blowing across his body when he woke. Sunlight warm on his face, the sound of running water filling his ears. The scent of smoke eddied around him. Dean turned his head. He was beside a large pond, he could see a pair of bare feet, beaten and bloodied like his own, to his right. Dean realized his heart was pounding in time with a drum, the sound throbbing through the grass, pulsing through his body. _I wonder what was in the second needle? _

"Stand Nameless Ones," a voice boomed out. Dean's body dragged itself up. He saw Nick and Randy standing as well.

Dean could see the source of the smoke. A large bonfire was burning beside the water. A large group of masked individuals was standing by the blaze. Another figure, unmasked, was held there as well. _I think that's Mitch. My god, do I look that bad? _

A voice began chanting in the odd language that accompanied all the rituals. Dean recognized several words, or thought he did—the ones for blood, death, sacrifice and the name of the thing the people served. After a minute the group began answering the chant, the single voice calling out and the group response.

Mitch was dragged towards the fire.

"Mitch," Nick said softly. "No." Dean glanced at Nick. The man had closed his eyes, Dean followed suit, not willing to watch what was going to happen, knowing he would anyway.

"Open your eyes," a voice growled from behind him. Dean's eyes opened. "Honor the sacrifice." Against his will, Dean's head turned towards the fire and Mitch.

Two men dragged Mitch to the edge of the fire. The man began screaming, desperate fear in every panting sound. They pushed him in, the screams became cries of agony. _Die, let go, don't fight it, just let go! _ The screams continued, the two men who had pushed Mitch into the fire stepped forward, large hooks in their hands. They reached into the flames, Mitch screamed again, the cry was a mixture of agony, terror, and suffering beyond endurance. They dragged him out of the fire and pulled him towards an area covered with flowers. Mitch was laid on the ground, the hooks pinning him to the earth.

"They come!" the voice behind Dean whispered. A dark shape dropped to the ground. _Oh god. _The carrion eaters were dropping from the sky, edging towards where Mitch still writhed on the ground.

Dean's attention was dragged away when Red Eyes approached. There were several people in masks with him. The world was wavering. Dean was pulled forward. He tried to resist. Something struck his back, cutting deeply. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nick and Randy being pulled towards the water. They shoved him off the edge, the pond was bottomless—or it felt that way. Dean's sank a long way before he fought towards the surface. As his head broke into the air again, he heard the chanting increase. His mind, his body, reacted to the chanting. His limbs began flailing in the water, the sound of splashing reminding him of a flock of geese he'd watched bathing in a lake on a long past summer day. Sam had been with him, they'd fed the birds, then watched as they bathed, Sam's delighted laughter filling the sparkling day.

_Sammy? Where are you? _Dean drifted on the memory of that day, one scene giving way to another. The sparkling lake became a popping campfire which became a sunlit slope covered in snow. It was beginning to get cold. The bright memories dimmed. He was still in the water, his limb moving sluggishly in the icy water. Nick and Randy were lying on the shore. Dean splashed in the water a little longer, his body was beginning to fail, the cold affecting him, making his bones ache, his arms ceased moving, he felt himself sinking into the water. He slid gratefully into the cold, hoping it was over. _Sam? Where are you? Are you okay? Sammy? _His brother's name stayed with him as all else was pulled away into the cold.

Dean was back on the bed, violent shivers racking his body. "Randy? Nick?" he gasped through chattering teeth. No one answered him. _Don't stop talking now. _Dean opened his eyes. He looked around, pleased when his muscles responded to his command. The room was empty.

_What time is it? _His internal clock had long since ceased to function. He'd lost track of the days since he'd been taken. _It must have been awhile. _He knew it had to be more than a few days, hunger had come and gone, the ache for food now long past. When he got a chance to look at himself, he could see that he'd lost weight. _A lot of it. _Wounds had healed, new ones made, all in a strange flowing mist of timelessness. The drugs were taking everything away. _It's only a matter of time now. I wonder how long until I become a host? Where's Sam? Why hasn't he found me? _

The door slammed open. Red Eyes stepped through the door. There was someone else with him, the second man waited in the door as Red Eyes walked to the bed. "What's your name?"

"Dean."

"You offend him."

"Good," Dean grated out.

"He wants you."

"I thought I offended him."

"You do, and you will pay." Red Eyes leaned forward, a needle bit into Dean's neck. Pain flowed through him, reality wavered. Red Eyes reached out, forcing Dean's mouth open and smeared something on Dean's tongue. He held Dean's jaws together until Dean was forced to swallow.

Reality swam around him, swirling in a kaleidoscope of colors. Sounds grated against him, time altered. Red Eyes left. Dean was alone, drifting on the colors, the pain pulsing through him. Darkness covered him, isolating him in a cage of pain.

"Dean?" A gentle hand was suddenly on his head. "Dean?"

"Sammy?"

"Let's get you out of here," Sam said. Dean felt his brother release the metal cuffs on his wrist and ankles. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah. I think so. You found me, Sammy, you found me," Dean said, opening his eyes. The colors swirled around him, his brother a shadow shape in the vast whirlpool of light.

"Yeah, I found you." Sam dragged Dean's arm over his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace, Dean leaned into his brother's arms. _You found me, thank you, Sammy. _ "Come on. I have the Impala outside," Sam whispered.

Dean let his brother carry him out of the room. The stench of death was stronger in the hall. Dean gagged, the drug making the smell more intense. It filled him with a tangible touch, pressing against his lungs making it hard to breathe. He leaned against Sam, taking comfort from his brother's presence.

"Almost there, Dean," Sam said gently.

"Good."

"Stop them," a voice rang out. _No, no._

"Run, Sam. You have to get out of here, leave me, run."

"No, Dean. I'm not leaving you." Sam's arm tightened on his shoulder.

Running footsteps sounded from behind him, hands were on them, stopping them, nails digging into Dean's arms. Sam was pulled away from him. He could see his brother fighting them, then Sam's shadow shape was on the floor, three figures in masks pinning him down.

"No!" Dean shouted trying to pull away from the hands holding him. "Sam!" He was dragged away, the wavering walls shifting as he was pulled down the hallway and into the altar room. Dean was forced to his knees in front of the black stones. The room was full of people in masks, their chant throbbing through his body. Red Eyes appeared from behind the wall, walking to Dean and forcing his mouth open, something vile was poured over his tongue. The world shifted.

The chant increased, a drum pounding a steady heartbeat in the room. Two men appeared behind Red Eyes, each carrying a tray. As far gone as his was, Dean recognized the trays used for sacrifice.

A cold realization flowed through him

_No, no. Oh, please, oh god, oh no. _Dean tried to force himself up, to get to his brother, to get Sam out of there before…_No, please, no. _

"Stay," the Red Eyes said, turning towards Dean.

_No. _His body stopped. Try as he might he couldn't make it move. Dean focused everything into getting up, into getting to his brother. His body refused to respond.

Sam was pulled into the room, blood running over his face. _No. _Sam tried to pull away, a hard blow from one of the men holding him and Sam sagged, they dragged him across the floor and placed on the altar. Sam moaned, still trying to pull himself free. Attendants held Sam's arms and legs. Dean's heart sped up, slamming against his ribcage, causing pain to slice through his body.

"SAM!" he screamed, the sound filling the room, covering the drum and the chants. "SAMMY!!" he was begging, pleading for it to end, to wake up, hoping it was a hallucination, knowing it wasn't. "SAM!" His scream was becoming a sob.

The chanting increased.

One of the men with the trays stepped forward, a red garland was laid on Sam's chest. Red Eyes reached for the other tray. He lifted the knife, holding it above Sam's body, the black blade glittering in the light, a rainbow of deadly movement. Dean's breathing became ragged. _No, no, Sammy, no. _

"SAM!" he cried again.

"Dean!" Sam's scream filled his ears, reverberating with an agony all its own.

The knife plunged down, Sam's shout became a shriek of pain. The knife slid along Sam's body, crunching through the cartilage, the knife clattered on the tray. Red Eyes reached out and opened Sam's chest, the ribs splaying out. Sam was screaming, his wordless screams filling the room. Red Eyes rammed his hands in, another horrific scream from Sam and Red Eyes held Sam's heart above his head.

_No. _

Dean closed his eyes, a moment later he was lifted, his body refusing to obey him. Dean was held beside the altar and a cup of his brother's blood was poured over his head.

_No. _

He was carried back along the hallway, the stairs plunging down into darkness. It was a different room. A small window let a tiny shaft of light in. They pushed him in.

_No. _

Dean dropped to the floor, his legs unable to carry his weight as his heart shattered. They'd taken Sam. His brother was dead. Tears welled up, the first since he'd been taken, and ran hot over his cheeks.

_No. _

Someone was in the room with him, panting painful gasps pulled him from his misery. He looked around. _Randy. _Dean crawled over to where Randy was on the floor. Blood covered his head. Dean reached out, there was something hard, sharp in Randy's chest.

_No. _

"Randy?" Dean asked, gently lifting Randy so he could lean against him.

"They killed Ronny, there's nothing left for me," Randy's words were spaced, each one a rasping pained breath. "Join me." Randy pressed something into Dean's hand, a sharp edge bit into Dean's palm.

"Randy, I'm sorry," Dean whispered, tightening his arms around the other. _He's dying. _

"It's okay, at least I'm not alone. Sorry I didn't wait for you, I didn't know," Randy whispered. His body relaxed, the final breath sighing out of him in a soft sound.

_No. _

Dean could feel the sharp metal in his hand. Consciousness was finally leaving him. The drugs, what he'd just witnessed, pulling him away. The metal was cool against his skin. They'd taken Sam, his brother was gone.

_No. _

The metal was surprisingly sharp, almost gentle. Something stung him, tearing at him, there was a hot rush of liquid over his hand. Dean shifted, lying on the floor, one arm still around Randy's lifeless body.

_No. _

The liquid was flowing over his hand, down his arm, cooling as it did. It was sticky. He thought he heard something, there was light against his eyelids. _I'm coming, Sam. _A rough hand grabbed him, pulled Randy away, the metal was gone from his hand and something bound tight around his wrist. The warm flow eased as darkness became visible and took him.

_No. _

**Present**

The window was cool against his face. He listened to the soft rumble of the car, the sound was soothing, familiar. The hand on his was comforting, warm. The one who had rescued him—Sam—was taking him some place. He wasn't sure where they were headed. That one—Sam—had said home. The car turned and Sam stopped in front of a white building. Sam turned to him and spoke, meaningless sounds interspersed with "Dean" and a new repeated word "safe." The word safe was connected in his mind to the word home, to this car and the one who had been taken. Pain tightened in his throat.

Sam patted his hand, pulled away and opened the car door. A moment later Sam had opened the door beside him and was helping him up, drawing him towards the building, repeating "Dean" and "safe" over and over again.

The door opened into a small room, it smelled fresh, clean. He walked in, the floor underneath his feet was soft. Sam closed the door, he heard the click of the latch. He turned to look at Sam.

"Dean," Sam said, reaching out and taking his hand. He led him into another room, brighter than the first, a large bank of windows against one wall. There was a door with a window. He walked towards it and looked out. Something was out there, something he knew.

"Mfph," he said to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam looked out, then opened the door with a frown, holding the second door open.

A moment later something large bounded into the room. He was knocked over. He heard Sam's voice, repeating a new sound "Harry." Sam was angry, his voice hard. The weight on him was pulled away.

"Mfph," he said, reaching for the large animal. Sam frowned at him, but let go of the creature. It walked over, sniffing him, then gently lapped his face with a rough tongue. He wrapped his arms around the animal and buried his face in its soft fur. He could hear Sam's voice, the tone had changed. There was another voice there, too, concerned, somehow connected with the soft creature he was holding. "Harry" was repeated again and again. He realized it was the creature's name. He leaned into the support of the animal.

Time had passed. The other voice left, and still he stayed with Harry, leaning against the animal, nearly asleep.

"Dean?" Sam said softly. He looked up, that one—Sam—had crouched down beside him. Sam was speaking, gently repeating words to him. "Sleep, bed," were the most common. The words began to have some distinct meaning. He reached out for Sam and let that one draw him up and lead him through the house to a small room at the back. The window was open, a soft, clean smelling breeze blew through the window. Sam helped him onto the bed, wiping his feet with a soft cloth before swinging his legs onto the mattress and pulling a blanket over him. Harry hopped onto the bed and settled down beside him.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "Dean," he said, then more sounds. Tears were running down Sam's face.

"Mfph?" he asked, holding Sam's hand, watching the tears flow harder on that one's face.

"Dean." Sam was shaking.

"Mfph?" He tentatively reached out, stopping before he actually touched Sam. "Mfph?" The one who had rescued him was in pain, something was wrong. He wanted to help. Sam had saved him, taken him away from that place, maybe he could help Sam somehow. "Mfph?" He let his hand brush Sam's shoulder.

"Dean?" Sam looked at him, then leaned into him, wrapping his arms around him while he sobbed. "Dean…" There were other sounds with the repeated "Dean" scattered among them. "Come back" was repeated over and over as well. That one—Sam—was sobbing, clinging to him.

Maybe Sam had lost his home, too? He wasn't sure. He wished he knew, wished he could help.

Sam's arms tightened.

He did know that one—Sam—had saved him, led him out into the light again, led him to a place where it smell clean and fresh, where there was Harry to rest warm against his leg.

He held Sam and let him cry.

It wasn't much, but it was all he could do.

He was still holding Sam when sleep found him. His head dropped against Sam's shoulder, his arms still around Sam. "Come back, Dean," Sam whispered as he fell asleep. He wished with all his heart he knew what Sam meant. He wanted to help Sam.

He felt himself lowered to the bed and something warm pulled over his shoulders before darkness finally pulled him into the soft comfort of sleep.

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: Just so you don't think I'm a complete sadist, the sacrifice/torture/rituals are based in the historic record._


	8. Foe of mankind, why murd'rest thou?

_A/N: Thank you everyone for sticking with me through this story. TraSan and Heather03nmg have been very persistent about asking for a little hope…And I think the time has come, I promise actual hope by the end of this chapter._

_**Warning: Contains references to forced drug use, human sacrifice, torture and very disturbing imagery.**_

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Seven**

_**Foe of mankind, why murd'rest thou my love?**_

Evening light lit the ranch house, the scent of rotting flesh rolling towards them on the light breeze. Bobby glanced around, his team was ready to move in. The police had alerted them the night before. _Four days in Carlsbad and finally something, of course it's halfway back to Roswell. _Bobby raised his hand and gestured for the team to get moving. He walked onto the porch and opened the door, steeling himself as the stench increased. _Altar first. _

Since they'd found Dean, Bobby took extra care in destroying the altars. He enjoyed watching them shatter, hoping that each one brought them a little closer to killing the thing that had taken Dean. He'd spoken with Sam the night before. Bobby could hear the exhaustion in the young hunter's voice. Sam was starting to break. Bobby had seen it coming for weeks, now with Dean back physically, but still lost to them, Sam was starting to lose himself.

It scared the hell out of Bobby.

He was panicked that he would lose Sam, too. Bobby accepted Dean was gone, dead for all intents and purposes, but Sam was starting to have hope, Bobby could hear it in his voice, and he knew that hope would eventually kill Sam. The tight control Sam maintained was terrifying—knowing what it was doing to Sam to was even more frightening.

Bobby had called CJ the night before, he'd been keeping touch more than usual this time out. It'd been four days since he'd headed south to Carlsbad. Bobby knew that Sam had taken Dean home, and was now bringing him to and from the small house. CJ told Bobby that Dean followed Sam like a puppy, never straying away, eyes focused on his brother as he walked—and if Sam was out of sight for more than a second, Dean panicked.

One of his boys was gone, the other slowly killing himself.

Bobby walked to the altar and shoved it over, watching as it broke apart. The room looked a little different than the others he'd been in. _Everything is a little different for some reason. _He turned and walked into the antechamber. _Not many bodies._

They'd been at Carlsbad Caverns two days before. The park hadn't been very cooperative, but the police and Sam had forced their hand. Bobby and his team had found a sacrificial altar deep in the earth, the old blood stinking in the dark cave. They'd spent another fifteen hours looking for more evidence of the thing and its followers, but except for one broken jade bowl, there was nothing else.

"Bobby!" Ian called. "We've got a host." Bobby ran down the hall, stopping in the doorway. The man was crouched in the far corner, cringing, making small whimpering noises. Ian was kneeling beside him, for all his brashness, Ian was gentle with the victims.

"I'll call the clinic and let them know. It was time to head back, anyway," Bobby said, pulling out his phone. He called Sam first.

"Hey, Bobby, how's it going?" Sam's voice was weary.

"We found a host."

"Alive?"

"Yeah, we're bringing him up," Bobby said.

"Good, we'll meet you at the clinic," Sam said with a sigh.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"Dean…" Sam stopped. "Nothing, Bobby. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"Okay." Bobby broke the connection. _That's it. I'm talking to him as soon as I can, he can't go on like this._

**XXX**

"Bobby's on the way back," Sam said, putting his phone in his pocket. "They found another host." Two sets of eyes were watching him. Dean and Harry were curled up together on a blanket in the dappled sun under the peach trees. "He won't be back for awhile, you two rest."

Sam took a breath, trying to control the pounding of his heart, trying to control the smothering guilt flowing through him. Sam had risked taking a shower at home. In the days since he'd brought Dean back to the small house, his brother seemed calmer, more at peace. An hour before, Sam had left Dean sitting quietly on the floor of the bathroom, Harry beside him and had stepped into the shower. As he shut the water off, Sam heard a car going through the alley, music blaring, the bass thumping so loudly the window rattled.

When Sam opened the shower curtain, Dean wasn't in the room. Sam panicked, racing through the house, calling Dean's name, trying to keep his voice calm. Harry's bark from the back bedroom alerted him. Sam had run into Dean's room, Harry was standing by the closet. Sam looked into the dark space. Dean was pressed into the corner, arms over his head, whimpering. After half an hour, Sam managed to coax his terrified brother out and into the sunlight.

Sam sighed. Dean was doing better physically, the wound was healing, his pain response was starting to function correctly again, he was even gaining a little weight. _But mentally, he's still gone. _Sam knew Bobby wanted to talk to him. They'd had the conversation twice already. _"You need to accept it, Sam, like you told me. Dean's gone, dead. Not coming back. You have to take care of yourself." _Somewhere inside himself he knew Bobby was right, he'd said it himself when they'd first found Dean, but over the last few days, his brother had started responding more, recognizing more words…

It gave Sam hope.

_The hope will kill me, I know it. _

Sam scrubbed his hands across his face and turned back to the reports. They'd lost all but one of the victims. The thing swept through the clinic every night, taking the few remaining hosts. Sam spoke with CJ and they decided sedate the last victim and keep him that way. _Now we've got another host on the way. _Sam sighed, shuffling through the papers. Every time he thought he'd found an answer to the thing's identity, the lead would fall through. _I wish… _Sam clamped down on that thought before it was fully formed.

"We should get going, Dean," Sam said two hours later. His brother looked up at him. "You ready?" Sam stood, Dean pushed himself off the ground. He patted Harry, then walked over to Sam.

"Mfph?" Dean asked, wrapping his hand around Sam's wrist.

"It's okay, Harry will be here when we get back to the house." Sam smiled and led Dean through the house. Once they were out the front door, Dean broke away and dashed for the car. He was in the passenger seat before Sam could pull the keys out. A vague memory from childhood swam into his awareness. Dean, at age ten, shouting "shotgun" and racing to the car. Sam swallowed the sudden pain, trying to keep the tears in his eyes. After he started the car and backed out, Dean reached over for his hand. The fact that Dean understood he needed to wait before taking Sam's hand was another source of hope for Sam.

_Dogs learn that kind of thing too, it doesn't mean he's coming back. You need to face that. _Sam pulled onto the main street. _He's not coming back, this is your brother now. _Sam swallowed. _No. He'll make it back. He has to. _

Sam pulled into their spot at the clinic. Dean waited in the car until Sam walked around and opened the door. His brother stood and let Sam lead him into the building. They came and went through the back door, it was less visible from both the parking lot and the building. Once they were in the office, Sam settled Dean in the recliner, covered him and buzzed CJ to let her know they were there.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice pulled him away from the computer sometime later.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said, blinking. Dean looked over at Sam, making a small sound. "It's okay, Dean. It's Bobby, Dean. Bobby." Sam reached out and laid his hand on Dean's arm. "Talk to him. Use his name. He recognizes his name."

"Dean?" Bobby walked towards the desk. Dean shifted closer to Sam, he could feel his brother trembling under his hand. "Dean, it's me, Bobby, remember me, Dean?"

"Mfph?" Dean looked at Sam.

"It's okay, Dean. Bobby is our friend." Sam looked at the older hunter, Bobby's face was tight with pain, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm your friend, Bobby, remember, Dean?" Bobby crouched down beside the chair, so he was lower than Dean. "I bought you your first bottle of tequila, Dean, remember?" Bobby looked up at Sam. "John was a little pissed when he found out."

"You did? I never knew," Sam said, smiling at the older hunter.

"Yeah, it was after a hunt when you were fourteen, you'd been hurt, Dean was upset, and once we knew you were going to make it, I got Dean drunk." Bobby reached out and put his hand on Dean's leg.

"Mfph?"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said. "You said you found another host?"

"Yeah, CJ checked him, five entries."

"Five?" Sam frowned. "The guy we caught, he said he served the one of seven and the one of five."

"You think this victim was with Dean?" Bobby asked.

"Maybe." Sam looked at his brother. _If they were together—how would seeing him affect Dean? _"I want to see him. Dean? Want to take a walk?" Sam tugged on Dean's hand. His brother stood and followed Sam and Bobby through the hallways. Sam pushed the door open on room eight and walked to the bed drawing Dean with him. He heard Dean's breathing accelerate. His brother dragged him to the bed, whimpering and reaching out to the still figure.

"Mmm, mfph," Dean said, patting the man's arm, looking at Sam, tears on his face. "Mfph, mfph."

"He knows him, Sam," Bobby said quietly.

"Yeah, maybe Bobby." Sam looked at his brother. "Maybe not. I think Dean knows this victim is like he is, went through what he did." Sam put his arm over Dean's shoulder, his brother leaned against him, still patting the victims arm. "Do you know him, Dean? Was he there with you?" Dean looked at him, the emotion in his eyes taking Sam's breath away. _Oh god, Dean. _

**Two Weeks Earlier**

It was dark, cold and damp. The cold filled every waking moment. Dean was beginning to suspect the drug had something to do with the all-pervading chill. Even outside in the sun he was cold, like the warmth of life was slowly being pulled out of his body. He took a breath, grinding his teeth against the pain. Whatever had happened the day before had left his upper body throbbing and covered with tiny wounds. A vague memory of sun on his face, the buzzing of insects and an odd sensation of something crawling on him was all he could bring to mind.

He shifted again. They'd stopped shackling him after they murdered Sam. When the drugs wore off that day, he found himself in a small room on a blanket, Randy's dead body stiffening beside him and his left wrist bound with a filthy bit of cloth. In the days since Sam's death the wound had healed a little, to Dean's surprise it hadn't become infected. Something thumped on the other side of the wall by Dean's head.

"Marco?" Dean said, the words tearing at his throat, sending a shaft of blinding agony through his body. Speaking was beginning to take a huge toll.

"Polo," Nick answered.

"Randy's really starting to stink."

"I can smell him in here."

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I think so. It look like something was chewing on me."

"Me, too. It reminds me of this time I saw a swarm of wasps on a dead deer," Dean said. "I'm not sure what happened."

"Me either. The drugs…"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Dean?"

"What is it, Nick?" They both made an effort to use each other's names, to counteract the continual demands to forget who they were.

"I…I give them my arm."

"I do, too," Dean said, relieved he could say it. Since his brother's death, Dean willingly gave them his arm, knowing the pain each dose caused, knowing it was taking a little more of himself away each time. Sometimes it felt almost as if it were loosening his skin. Still he gave them his arm—sometimes the pain of whatever they were doing to him, in combination with the drugs, would trigger a memory. It didn't matter what the memory was—they were all good. Sam was there, sometimes his father and Bobby, but mostly Sam. So he held out his arm and waited for the needle, hoping for a few moments with his brother before the pain overwhelmed him.

"Oh, good. I thought it was just me."

"No, it's not just you." Dean sighed. "It's close, the ritual when it will take us and we become hosts."

"I know. Maybe we'll finally get lucky and drop dead."

"We can always hope. They've lost two before the final ritual."

"Yeah, maybe today. I think today might be…"

"I know. I hope I don't scream like that poor bastard the other day."

"Me either." Something that sounded like a laughter drifted through the wall. "You know we will, Dean."

"I know, Nick." Dean heard a muffled thump from somewhere over their heads. "They're coming. I hope you die, Nick," Dean said, offering their now-ritual parting.

"Yeah, Dean, I hope you die today, too."

The door opened and Red Eyes came in. Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and held out his arm. He watched as the needle was shoved in, then sighed as the drug ran through his system, the pain starting almost immediately. He wondered what was next—each time they came it was a little different. His mouth was forced opened and something poured in. Whatever it was tasted like rotting vegetation smelled. Dean swallowed.

"Open your eyes." Dean's eyes opened. "What's your name?"

"Dean." Pain lashed through his body.

"You are Nameless."

"Not yet."

They dragged him to his feet. He closed his eyes as they pulled him through the house. Suddenly there was sun on his face. _Nick's right, it is today. Oh god. _Dean stumbled down the steps towards the sunlit table covered in flowers. He was barely aware when he was pushed down onto the hard surface. Chanting began. _Please, Sam, are you here? _Something was laid on his body, Dean opened his eyes and looked at the flowers covering his chest, then up at the attendants. One had a tray with the offering bowls, the other was holding a long spine in his hands. _Oh god. _A memory drifted over him. Dean sighed. _Sam._

"_I'm going to get my tongue pierced," Sam announced one night at dinner. _

The chanting continued. The drum sounding a bass note pulsing through Dean's body.

"_No son of mine is getting his tongue pierced," John shouted. _

Hard hands grabbed his arms and legs, yanking them down away from his body, the edge of the table cutting into his flesh, pressing against bone.

"_All the other kids are," Sam continued stubbornly. _

"_I don't care," John snapped. Dean wondered for the millionth time when his father would realize sometimes Sam enjoyed yanking John around. _

His mouth was pulled open.

"_Why the hell do you want your tongue pierced?" Dean finally said when their father went from red to purple. _

Pain, agony, the warm rush of blood over his face. Someone was screaming.

"_I don't know." Sam shrugged. Their father was spluttering. Dean chuckled when Sam met his eyes._

"_Well, if it hurts too much, don't come crying to me," Dean said, their father turned an even darker color of purple, the explosion imminent._

"_It hurts? Really? In that case, I think I'll skip it," Sam said with a laugh. John took three deep breaths, looked at them both, opened his mouth, closed it and stormed out of the house. _

"_That wasn't nice," Dean said, smiling at his brother._

"_No, you're right. I'll apologize in a while." Sam smiled back. _

Something was thumping by his head. Time had passed, he had no idea how much time. Dean rolled over. He was back in his room on the blanket against the wall. The drug had already worked its way through his system. _It's mostly gone, it must have been a day at least, maybe more. How much time? Does it matter? _

"Dean?" Nick's voice was thick, almost unrecognizable.

"Nick?" Dean answered, suddenly aware of the pain in his mouth, the throbbing of the wound in his tongue.

"You screamed."

"You did, too."

"Yeah, I did. This was the last one."

"Yeah, which of us will go first?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. What do you think it's like?" Nick's voice was full of fear. Dean knew exactly how he felt. They'd been "honored" by attending one entry ritual. They both knew what was coming. Watching what would happen to them, knowing they would be aware for at least part of it, terrified him.

"Death, but worse, because when you die at least it ends," Dean said.

"Not always," Nick said. "I died once. Back when I was still in uniform. Kid shot me."

"Yeah, I've died, too. Once or twice."

"This won't be like that."

"No, it won't. I'm sorry, Nick."

"Me, too, Dean. Hurts to talk, more than usual."

"I know." Dean leaned against the wall. "If they take me first and you get the chance…"

"I'll try, Dean. You, too."

"If I can kill you, I will."

"Thank you." There was silence for a long moment. "I..."

The door to Dean's room slammed open, four men in masks striding into the room. "I know who's first, Nick."

"Dean!" Nick shouted. "They're here too, I'll try. I promise."

"Thank you."

Two of the men stepped forwards, grabbing his arms and pulling him to his feet. Red Eyes walked up to him. "What's your name?"

"Dean. You freak." One of the men hit him. "Dean."

"You are Nameless." Red Eyes shoved a needle in his arm.

"Dean," he repeated.

"You will now serve him." Another needle jabbed into his neck.

"Dean Win…" His legs buckled. "Dean Winchester," he managed to get out before they dragged him across the floor.

He was carried to the altar room. It was already full of people in masks, chanting in time with the drum. Dean heard something behind him. Nick was pulled into the room, forced to kneel in front of the altar. Dean looked at Nick, met the other's eyes and smiled. _He won't get the chance to kill me. Sorry, Nick. _

They lifted Dean onto the altar, garlands of red and yellow flowers were placed around his body. One of the attendants poured blood over the flowers, over Dean. The last of the blood was poured into Dean's mouth. The coppery taste had something else in it. Pain pulsed through his body.

The chanting increased.

Red Eyes and another man were standing before the altar calling out the response—they would speak, the others in the room answering. It reminded Dean of a church service he and Sam had attended once years before. _Sam, maybe, maybe I'll get lucky and join you before it comes. _

"Sit up," Red Eyes said. Dean's body obeyed. Attendants stepped forwards, one leaned on his legs, two others grabbed his arms and pulled them away from his body. _Oh god. _Dean watched Red Eyes pick up the blade from a tray. He held it up then walked around the altar seven times, finally stopping behind Dean. A moment later, Dean felt the touch of the knife as it slid down his back, cutting a strip of flesh away. He ground his teeth together trying not to scream. He was laid back down. _Oh god, please, please no. _

"He is ready."

The chanting reached an ear-splitting level and the curtain by the altar was pushed aside.

It was there.

It oozed up to the altar, the mass of it without a hosts body covering it's horrific form. It slid around him, the sick-sweet scent of rotting human flesh flowing off of it in giant waves. It sighed and ran what might be a hand over Dean's face, along his body. It caressed Dean's face for a moment, then stepped away.

Even though he'd been expecting it, when Red Eyes hands closed around his throat, Dean was startled. The hands slowly closed, cutting off his air supply. Dean wished it would kill him, hoped it would, but knew it wouldn't. Black spots began dancing, an ache began in his chest. Dean struggled.

"Don't fight it," Red Eyes whispered. Dean's body relaxed.

It slid onto the altar, its breath covering Dean. The flowers were moved aside. Dean hovered at the edge of consciousness, but try as he might, he couldn't take the plunge over the edge. He was held there, without air, with his body refusing to obey.

It touched him. The sharp point sliding down his sternum before stopping. He felt it, a gentle pressure at first, then a biting pain as a long claw cut through his skin, digging into him, making space.

The claw withdrew and something else touched him. He wasn't sure what it was, he just felt it slid in, under his skin, inching up through his body with the slow, agonizing movements of an earthworm. It would move forward, withdraw, then push itself further in. It slid up his ribs, down his legs, stretching the skin, sending blinding shafts of pure agony through his body. It liked the pain, he could sense that now as it entered him. When the movement reached his neck, the hands were withdrawn. Dean fought the sensation of choking as the thing inched up his neck and into his face. He felt it as it slipped along his cheeks, along his nose and lips, filling him with itself. He knew when he was seeing with its eyes as they superseded his own. It slid along his scalp.

_No, god no, let me die. Please let me die. _

He felt it as it moved into his ear canal, felt the gentle probing touch and then it was in his mind racing through it, destroying it as surely as it violated his body.

He thought he heard someone screaming, then there was nothing but the touch of the thing and endless, mindless pain.

The shock of pain as he hit the floor brought him back to awareness. He was in the dark, stinking room. Something was thumping by his head and a voice was shouting something. The sound was repeated. "Dean" the sound said, over and over.

It didn't matter.

He was bleeding from his eyes, his nose, his ears.

It didn't matter.

His throat was aching, bruised, it was hard to breathe.

It didn't matter.

The wound in his abdomen was seeping, the blood cool on his overheated skin.

It didn't matter. None of it did. The core of who his was, all he had been was no longer there. His name, his memories, all removed.

Dean Winchester was gone.

Taken. Shattered and lost beyond all hope of recovery.

He rolled onto his side, wrapped his arms around his chest and wept.

**Present**

It was quiet in the office. He was warm, curled up in the chair beside the one who rescued him—Sam's—desk. The blanket Sam had put over him was soft and fuzzy. He was running his hands over it. The fabric was softer than Harry, but it reminded him of the big dog. He sighed.

"Dean?" Sam looked up at him. Sam said something else, the sounds flowing together, but always "Dean" scattered throughout. Another word had begun to make sense. "House." He knew it was where they went at night, after a ride in the big black car that was home. Harry was at house, Sam was there, it smelled good. He liked it there and looked forward to returning each night.

"Sam?" A rough voice said. "Dean."

"Bobby," Sam said. He knew the other man's name was Bobby from the way it had been repeated. Bobby had gone with them to the room where the other was. The one from when he was in that place. Tears pooled in his eyes. "Dean?" Sam said.

"Mfph." He reached out for Sam, wrapping his hand around Sam's wrist.

Sam said something, then turned to Bobby. He watched as they spoke. After several minutes, Sam turned back to him. "Dean, house," Sam said, standing. That one waited as he got up, then led him through the hall and out to the car. The car was warm when he sat down in it and the sound of the engine lulled him into something close to sleep.

"Dean?" Sam said.

He opened his eyes, they were at house. Sam helped him up and they walked into the small building together. Once he was in the house, he raced towards the back. Harry's bark greeted him as he opened the door. "Dean!" Sam called. He looked back and waited for Sam before going into the yard with Harry. The large dog ran around the yard, tail wagging, before coming over to their blanket with a stick in its mouth. The dog waited for him to take the stick before sitting down beside him.

The wind suddenly changed, bringing with it the smell of… of… something familiar, terrifying. It was too much. He leaned into Harry, wrapping his arms around the dog and cried. A moment later, he felt Sam's hand on his back, then the warmth of Sam's arm over his shoulder. He couldn't stop the tears.

"Dean?" Sam said gently sometime later. The tears had passed. He was lying with Harry on the blanket, Sam was sitting beside them. "Bed?" It was another word he knew.

"Mfph," he said, standing. He swayed on his feet, Sam caught him and helped him inside. He pulled him into the room beside the bedroom and set him down on the edge of the tub, carefully lifting his feet in, then running water over them. Once they were clean, Sam helped him into the bedroom and settled him on the bed. A moment later Harry hopped up beside him. The dog knew the routine. Wash feet, then bed.

"Dean," Sam said, patting his chest. He nodded to let Sam know it was okay to leave. He knew Sam would be back in a few minutes. Sam stayed in the room every night. One night he woke up, terrified, and Sam had been there. As long as that one was there—the one who rescued him—it was okay. He sighed, put his arm over Harry and listened for Sam to return.

"Dean?" Sam said as he settled on the edge of the bed.

"Mfph," he said and let himself drift to sleep.

It was the place between waking and sleep, the moment when everything was perfect—before the world crashed back in and he drifted there for a moment. There was a bird singing outside the open window, the scent of flowers drifted into the room. Not a heavy, sickening floral scent, but the crisp—somehow clean—scent of roses. The bed was soft, the pillow smelled clean, fresh, just laundered. There was a heavy weight beside him, Harry the dog was snoring.

Dean opened his eyes and looked around the small bedroom, his bedroom. _How did I get here? _The last clear memory he had was the moments before the final ritual. Rolling over he stared up at the ceiling. Grief washed over him in a huge wave, the thought of the small house, with Sam dead, gone, was almost too much. He ran his hands over his chest, pausing at the wound. It was healing.

"What are you going to do?" Bobby's voice came from the kitchen. Dean could hear exasperation in the older hunter's voice. Bobby was worried and frustrated with someone. "You can't keep it up, it's killing you."

"I'm managing," an exhausted voice answered. Dean held perfectly still, his heart pounding. It sounded like Sam.

"No, you're not. You can't keep going like this. I won't lose you, too."

"He's not lost," the growl was fierce, desperate. Dean sat up, still not daring to breathe, the voice was familiar, so achingly familiar, but there was a note in it that was completely foreign.

"He is. The man you knew is gone, you need to…"

"No! I can take care of him."

"He's dead."

"Dean is not dead." Each word was carefully annunciated, the near-shout was accompanied by the sound of something hitting the wall and shattering. The pain in the voice propelled Dean out of bed and across the small hall to the kitchen door.

"Dean," Bobby said, glancing at him.

Dean nodded at Bobby, but his whole focus was taken up by the figure silhouetted in the doorway. His back was to Dean, the familiar set of the shoulders reflecting pain and exhaustion, hands shaking, body trembling with carefully controlled emotion.

"Dean?" Bobby said in a completely different tone. Dean ignored him.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, pain flaring in his chest, the words hard after so long. "Sam?"

The figure turned. His hair was a little longer, the planes on his face a little harder. "Dean?" his brother said, anguished. Tears were running down his face. "Dean?" he asked again.

"You're alive," Dean said, tears in his own eyes. Four long strides and Sam was across the room, pulling Dean against him in a crushing hug. "You're alive," Dean said, holding his brother, feeling the strong beat of Sam's heart under his hand. _You're alive, alivealivealivealive._

"You're here," Sam said in the same moment. "Dean, you're back." Sam leaned into him, holding him. Finally he pulled away. Before Dean could say anything Bobby pulled him into a tight hug.

"Welcome home, son," Bobby said, his voice gruff.

"You _are_ here?" Sam asked quietly. His hand on Dean's shoulder, his eyes searching Dean's face.

"You _are_ alive?" Dean tried for a teasing tone. It didn't work at all. Sam chuckled, the laugh quickly became a sob and Dean was pulled back against his brother.

"I've missed you," Sam said, letting him go, but staying close enough so their shoulders were in contact.

"I know, Sammy, me too. God, I thought…" He swallowed. "I saw…You were…"

"Dean?" Sam frowned, the squinch of concern curling between his eyebrows.

"They… Oh god, Sam." Dean took a steadying breath.

"It's okay, Dean, it doesn't matter. It's over."

"Sam…" _How do I tell him?_

"What is it, Dean?"

"It's not over, Sammy." He leaned against his brother. "It's about to get a lot worse."

_**To Be Continued**_


	9. Only to lose the shadow of thy joy!

_A/N: Sorry this update has taken so long. I won't keep you waiting too long for the rest. I am finishing up the last edits on my novel. I struggled a bit with the beginning, turns out that Sam wanted his POV for Dean's awakening. _

**In Darkness let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Eight**

_**Only to lose the shadow of thy joy!**_

The morning sun was slanting through the curtains, the soft scent of the roses outside the windows drifting into the room. Sam lay still, wondering what woke him. A loud snore from Harry the dog provided the answer. He lifted his head and looked over at the dog. Dean was curled up, his face peaceful. Sam sighed. He looked like Dean, not the nameless victim, but like Dean.

Sam shifted, looking over at the clock. He'd have to get Dean up and head to the clinic in half an hour. _I'll let him sleep a little longer. _His brother had woken up in the middle of the night, whimpering in fear. Whatever triggered the tears that evening had continued in his dreams. Sam sat with him, comforting, trying to reach him for several hours. Dean had finally dropped back to sleep. Sam managed to steal a few more hours as well. _How much longer can I keep this up? As long as I have to. _

He dragged himself out of bed, got dressed and headed towards the kitchen, putting a cup of water in the microwave. Sam had started drinking instant. The smell of coffee brewing in a coffeemaker was too much to take. So he'd started drinking instant, switching to flavored coffees when the bitter taste made him nauseous. He'd taken the water out of the microwave and was stirring two spoonfuls of the mix into the water when he heard a car outside. Sam had the door open before Bobby knocked. _Shit. _The look on Bobby's face was determined. _He's going to try and convince me to let Dean go. _

It was becoming a theme with the older hunter. Sam could understand Bobby's worry, but he couldn't let go. Now that he had Dean with him, it was impossible to let go. Even if his brother never came back, it didn't matter. Dean had always taken care of him, now it was his turn.

"Sam," Bobby said, stepping in the door.

"Want a cup of coffee, Bobby? I'll have to get Dean up in a minute."

"If coffee is what's in that cup, count me out." Bobby walked through the house to the kitchen. Sam trailed after him. "I wanted to talk about Dean."

"Nothing to talk about, Bobby," Sam said.

"You can't run the task force and take care of him, Sam. You should see yourself, it looks like someone punched you in both eyes."

"I'm getting more rest now that we come to the house every night." Sam realized he rarely used the word home anymore. "I'm okay."

"You are as far from okay as you can get Sam."

"I get it, Bobby, you're worried."

"What are you going to do?" Bobby asked, frustration welling up in his voice. "You can't keep it up, it's killing you."

"I'm managing," Sam said, hearing the exhaustion in his voice. _I'm not managing. I'm breaking apart. But what else can I do? It's Dean. _

"No, you're not. You can't keep going like this. I won't lose you, too."

"He's not lost," Sam growled, unable to stop the painful twist in his chest.

"He is. The man you knew is gone, you need to…"

"No! I can take care of him." Sam felt anger bubbling in his chest.

"He's dead."

"Dean is not dead." He spaced the words out, trying to calm himself. Before he realized what he was doing, he threw the cup of coffee at the wall, watching as the mug shattered. Sam walked to the door and stood with his back to Bobby. _He's not dead. He's Dean. I… Oh, god, what do I do? _

"Dean," Bobby said. Sam ignored the older hunter, he was staring out the door, watching the flowers move in the wind. "Dean?" Bobby said again, the tone was completely different, shock, surprise, Sam wasn't sure what he heard in Bobby's voice, but something was different. He was getting ready to turn around and ask.

"Sammy?" A voice whispered. It was harsh, the tone almost unrecognizable. "Sam?"

Sam's heart was slamming against his ribs, his hands started shaking. Hoping against hope, he turned around. Dean stood in the door to the kitchen, looking at him, a frown on his face. Sam looked closely at his brother and gasped. Dean was looking back at him, not like the nameless victim, the one who didn't speak, the one with lost, vacant eyes. No, it was Dean. "Dean?" Sam asked, aware of tears running down his face. "Dean?"

"You're alive," Dean said, tears tracking down his cheeks. Sam walked across the room and pulled his brother against him. "You're alive," Dean said again. His arms wrapped so tightly around Sam it was a little hard to breathe,

"You're here," Sam said in the same moment. "Dean, you're back." _You're here, you're you. Oh, god, Dean. _His brother looked at him, before Sam could say anything, Bobby had pulled Dean against him. There were tears in the older hunter's eyes.

"Welcome home, son," Bobby said, wiping the tears off his face with one hand.

"You _are_ here?" Sam asked, looking at Dean, searching his eyes. He gave his brother a gentle shake.

"You _are_ alive?" Dean said, his voice teasing. Or that was what Sam thought his brother was trying for, the last word came out as a sob. Sam pulled Dean against him again.

"I've missed you," Sam said, clearing his throat.

"I know, Sammy, me too. God, I thought…" Dean swallowed, his eyes reflected horror. _What, Dean? What happened? _"I saw…You were…"

"Dean?"

"They… Oh god, Sam." Dean had tears on his face. He took a deep breath, Sam could see him struggling for control.

"It's okay, Dean, it doesn't matter. It's over."

"Sam…"

"What is it, Dean?"

"It's not over, Sammy." Dean leaned against him with a sigh. "It's about to get a lot worse."

"Worse?" Bobby asked. "And just how will it get worse?"

"Dean?" Sam said, watching his brother. Dean's eyes were haunted.

"I made it back."

"Yeah, you did." Sam nudged him with a shoulder.

"No, you don't understand, Sammy. I made it back." Dean frowned. "I remember something about being special. If I survived, I remember…" He closed his eyes, his face paled. "If I came back…"

"Dean what is it?" Sam asked gently.

"It'll come for me again."

"To kill you?" Bobby asked.

"Eventually," Dean said. "But, since I made it back, it can take me again. And if it does, it's going to be bad."

"Bad?" Sam looked at Dean, his brother met his eyes. "That bad?"

"Yeah. It's probably not me, though. I remember there was something about seven entries."

"Seven?" Bobby said, looking at Sam.

"Yeah." Dean paused when they were silent. "Sammy?"

"Dean?"

"How many times?" Dean put his hand on Sam's arm. "I don't remember much after the first one, mostly just the pain."

_I'm so sorry. _"Seven," Sam managed to get out, he wasn't sure how. "Seven entries, Dean."

"Seven?" Dean whispered, his hand going to the wound on his abdomen. "Sam…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "What's the plan?" he said in an entirely different tone.

"I need to go into the clinic for awhile," Sam said. _I don't want to leave Dean, but I have to go in._

"Maybe you should take a day off," Bobby said at the same time.

"No, I need to go in." Sam smiled. "Maybe you can stay here with Dean till I get back."

"NO!" Dean's shout surprised him. Dean's hand had locked around Sam's wrist.

"Just for a couple of hours, Dean," Bobby said. "I'm sure me and that fuzzy beast can keep an eye on you."

"No. I'll go with that one…" Dean stopped himself. "Sam. I'll go with you, Sammy."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Bobby said.

Sam was looking at his brother. Dean's eyes were full of fear. _No, terror. He's terrified. _"Sure, Dean, you can come. We'll stick to the office." Dean sighed in relief.

"I'll get dressed." Dean smiled and walked out of the room. "Time to get up, Harry," Dean said, his voice drifting into the kitchen.

"Dean and that dog." Sam looked at Bobby. "What?"

"Sam, I don't think it's a good idea to take Dean."

"He needs to go, Bobby. I…" Sam broke off, the idea was ludicrous.

"He's still imprinted, isn't he? Even aware, he needs you," Bobby said, nodding.

"I think so," Sam said softly. "We won't stay long, and you can keep an eye out."

Harry wandered into the kitchen followed by Dean. "I'll be back tonight," Dean said, opening the back door. He patted the dog and Harry walked out. "Ready."

"I still don't think…" Bobby began.

"It's okay," Sam said, grabbing the keys. "Let's head in, the earlier the better." He walked out to the Impala, Dean right behind him. His brother slid into the passenger seat with a sigh, then smiled as Sam got in. As soon as Sam had the ignition on, Dean turned the stereo on, Accept blasted out of the speakers.

"Weird," Dean said, frowning.

"What?"

"I swear that's exactly what I was listening to when they stopped us. I mean the same spot and everything."

"It is," Sam said quietly. Dean looked at him for a long moment. Sam shrugged. Dean, can you tell me what happened when they stopped you?"

"The road was blocked, I slowed down, something hit me."

"Something?" Sam looked over at his brother. "Like?"

"My window was down, they hit me with a dart. I pulled it out as soon as I realized, but it was too late. I was already groggy when they got to the car. Randy was pretty much out." Dean paused. "Randy…"

"We found him."

"Oh."

"What else?"

"Next thing I really remember was waking up where they held us at first."

"There was blood in the car."

"I think…" Dean frowned. "Maybe they cut me? I'm not sure. I was pretty out of it. I remember they tore my necklace off. Just pulled on it till it broke. Hurt, even with the dart."

"Yeah, we found it in the car." Sam made the turn into the clinic. "Are you sure you want to go in, Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean looked out the window. "Bobby's behind us."

"I think he's worried." Sam pulled into the parking spot and got out. Dean followed him through the back door and into the office. Without pausing, Sam walked over and turned on the coffeepot, it started gurgling, the smell of coffee filled the room. "It's probably okay for you to have a little."

"Thanks," Dean said, sinking down in the chair by the desk. Sam poured them coffee and brought a cup to Dean. Someone tapped on the door, Dean's face went white, his hands started shaking. Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah?" Sam said.

"It's CJ, Sam," she said.

"Come in." Sam moved to sit behind the desk.

"I'm glad you're here early. I wanted you to check the latest victim. I think he was entered five times, but I'm not sure," she said with a smile.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"Sam's the expert," CJ said, then stopped. She looked over at Dean. "Dean?"

"Hi," he said, smiling.

"Hi." Tears gathered in her eyes, she looked back at Sam. "Sam? What happened?"

"I don't know."_ I have no idea. He went to bed the victim, woke up my brother._

"Wait, you have a new victim?" Dean said, sitting up.

"Yeah, they brought him in yesterday," Sam said, watching as Dean stood up. "Where are you going?"

"I need to see him, Sam."

"Okay, Dean. Hang on." He looked at CJ, he'd been thinking about this since Dean woke up. "Dean thinks it will be back for him, CJ, I need something that will knock him out fast."

"Got it, I'll be right back." She walked out and was back a few seconds later. "Here." She handed him a syringe.

"Thanks. Let's go, let me check the hallway first." Sam opened the door and looked down the corridor, it was empty. He stepped out and gestured Dean to follow. When they reached the room, Sam put a hand on Dean's arm. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean opened the door and walked in. Sam heard his sharp intake of breath. "Ah, Nick."

"You know him?"

"Yeah, Nick… Nick… I can't think of his last name. He was a cop in Portales. He was in the room with us."

"You and Randy?" Sam asked, standing beside Dean. His brother was trembling.

"Yeah, and Mitch and George." Dean swallowed and put his hand on Nick's chest. "You're safe." He looked at Sam. "Right?"

"I think so. We're keeping him sedated right now. It's been increasing its attacks, so we decided to keep the few left sedated."

"Not me?"

"No, not you." _I couldn't Dean, not once I… _

"Sammy?" Dean said after a few moments of silence. "Did I…?"

"What?"

"Did I look like that?"

"Dean…" Sam swallowed. "Yeah."

"And now? Do I still…?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean reached out for him, letting his fingers curl around Sam's wrist. He swayed on his feet.

"Let's get you back to my—our—office." Sam led his brother out of the room. Dean took a last look as the door closed. He was silent on the trip back. Dean sat in the chair and stared off into space. "Dean?" Sam said quietly.

"I… Sam…" He sighed and picked up his coffee cup, sipped and watched Sam. "What's that?" Dean jumped as the fax machine started printing.

"Fax. I turned the ringer off." Sam picked it up. The police in Ruidoso had found a house, one officer had been stung to death by bees. Sam opened the computer and entered the information. He hit the speaker phone and buzzed Dirk. "They found a house in Riudoso. We need to send a team out there as soon as possible."

"Right. We have a team headed back in from a little further south of there, is it okay if I send them to Ruidoso on the way back?"

"Is that Braulio's team?"

"Yeah, they were checking that ranch in the mountains. Said it was a bust. Nothing there, no bodies, they think it might have been a prank."

"We still have to check," Sam said. "Yeah, have then divert to Ruidoso. The cop's name who faxed the report is Jamie Calero."

"I'm on it," Dirk said, breaking the connection.

Sam sighed and shuffled the papers, lining them up along the side of the desk. _Ruidoso? That's a long way out, but if a cop was stung to death, it has to be related. _He picked up the report Ronny had brought him the day before, thumbing through it. _Nothing that helps. _

"Did you just give Dirk orders?" Dean's voice broke into his thoughts.

"What?"

"Did you just give Dirk orders?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Huh," Dean said, shifting in the chair. Sam waited for a moment, but Dean was quiet. Sam turned back to the papers. There was so much to do and, frankly, he'd let some of it slide since they'd found Dean. He glanced at Dean, his brother had his eyes closed, a frown on his face. "What?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled. "Nothing."

"So, how's it going?" Dean said, opening his eyes and looking at Sam. "You any closer to finding this thing?"

"We know a little more, we've found other house. Ronny discovered what the nests were. We found a couple of broken bowls." Sam sigh, restlessly moving the papers around. "But not much. We need to find someone who can tell us more. Damn, I wish the victims could talk to us."

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam said absently, still sorting through the papers.

"I can talk."

"What?" Sam looked at the papers, realization suddenly curling through him. _Oh my god. _"Dean?"

"Ask me, maybe I can help."

"I…" Sam swallowed.

"You have to just pretend I'm one of them, a victim, nothing more," Dean said with a smile.

"What?" Sam whispered. _No, no. _Something in Sam broke. All the carefully controlled emotion, all the tension, everything that had kept him going, kept him focused was suddenly demanding a way out. "Bathroom." He got up and walked to the small room, carefully closing the door behind him. Once he was sure it was shut, he put his head in his hand, sliding down the wall, tears overflowing his eyes. _Oh god, I let him just be a victim. How could I do that to him? How could I ever… Oh, god, Dean. I…He's back, but… _Relief mixed with grief and guilt, it was almost too much. He was so wrapped up, he didn't hear the door open.

"Sammy?" Dean said quietly, sitting down beside him.

"I'm so sorry," Sam said through his hands.

"What?"

"Oh god, Dean." Sam leaned against his brother, needing the contact. Dean put his arm over Sam's shoulders. "I… Dean, I said…" Sam swallowed. "I said…"

"It's okay, Sam, whatever it was. It's okay."

"I said…"

"It doesn't matter, Sammy." Dean gave him a little shake.

"Dean…" Sam lifted his head out of his hands and looked at his brother. Dean was frowning in concern, but there was something else. "Are you in pain?" Dean hesitated. "Dean? Let me check the wound."

"It's not that." Dean batted his hands away. "Well, that hurts, but that's not it."

"What is it?" _Sometimes I want to strangle you Dean, even now, right after I got you back._

"Talking." Dean swallowed.

"What?"

"Talking hurts." Dean looked at him. "Not my throat, I mean it actually hurts. They made it clear I wasn't supposed to, and after… after… that first time, I couldn't. It hurt too much."

"And it still does?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled lopsidedly at him. "It's okay, it's better than the alternative." He nudged Sam with his elbow. "You ready to get out of here? My ass is asleep."

Sam chuckled and stood, gently pulling Dean to his feet, then steadying him as he swayed. Dean walked back to the chair by the desk, sitting down so he could watch Sam and the large window behind the desk. Sam got them both another cup of coffee and sat down.

"So?" Dean said.

"So? What?"

"What do you want to know? I'll do my best, some of it's kind of fuzzy."

"It can wait," Sam said, looking at Dean.

"Sam…"

"It can wait a minute or two. You need to rest. You should have told me it hurts to talk."

"It's okay. Really, before you open your mouth." Dean sighed. "Coffee helps."

"You think coffee helps everything."

"It does."

"Right. Do you remember that time when I was sixteen? I was hurt on the hunt, bleeding, in shock and you made coffee while we waited for dad and Bobby to get help?"

"It made you feel better didn't it?"

"Yeah, actually it did. I kept thinking it couldn't be that bad, not if you were making coffee like nothing was wrong." Sam smiled, Dean smiled back, his eyes drifting to the window.

"There are more flowers out there than I remember," Dean said after a few moments.

"The hibiscus started blooming last week." _Is Dean talking about flowers? _

"Is that one the red one?" Dean asked, he got up and walked to the window.

"Yeah, it is."

"There were some of those there. During the ritual where…" Dean swallowed. "The table was covered with flowers. There were some of those mixed in."

"Are you sure?" Sam looked at Dean, his brother was frowning, lost in a memory. Dean's jaw was clenching, he nodded. "Do you remember any of the others?"

"Why? Uh… maybe. I'm not sure. If I could see them again I would."

"Maybe I can track the flowers, see what they are used for, see what… Dean what is it?" His brother had suddenly gone white. Dean's hand latched onto his arm in a painful grip. "Dean?"

"No," Dean whispered, his voice full of layer upon layer of fear. "No."

"What is it?" Sam tried to draw Dean away from the window, his brother refused to move. "Dean?"

"It's here," Dean said. He was trembling.

"The alarm hasn't gone off."

"Oh, god, it sees me."

"What?" Sam followed his brother's glance. A large hummingbird was hovering right outside the window.

"Sammy, it's here, you have to… Oh god, please…" Dean recoiled from the window, tearing at his shirt. "No! Please! I'm sorry, please, no!" He stumbled back, Sam caught him. Dean's eyes were wild with fear. "Sammy, it's here, you have to believe… OH GOD STOP!" Dean tore at his chest. Sam thought he saw movement under Dean's skin. "I said I was sorry! PLEASE! STOP!"

"Dean, give me your arm!" Sam pulled the syringe and slipped the needle into Dean's arm.

"Sam…" Dean was sobbing in fear as he fell. Sam caught him and lowered him onto the chair.

"If you're out, it can't find you, Dean."

"Sam, don't let it… If… Does… Kill…" Dean's eyes closed as his body relaxed.

The alarm started blaring.

_**To Be Continued**_


	10. That caus'd My Sorrow and These Tears

_A/N: I'm sorry I got a little behind, but the book is finished, edited and proofed, so I am back to fic full-time for a little while. I'll have a new hurt Dean story up later this week too. I heard someone is having a birthday and she likes a tiny little bit of hurt Dean, just a little though! I'll catch up on my review replies as well! Warnings as before. _

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Nine**

_**That caus'd my sorrows and these tears **_

The red-throated hummingbird was hovering outside the window, the flowers fluttering in the breeze from its wings. Dean's heart was slamming against his ribs, it was suddenly hard to breathe. The only thing keeping him from shattering apart was the grip he had on his brother's wrist."It's here," Dean said.

"The alarm hasn't gone off," Sam said is his "be reasonable" tone.

"Oh, god, it sees me." Dean took half a step back from the window, his eyes locked on the hummingbird.

"What?"

Something was whispering to him, in the well-remembered voice. The voice that played in his head when it was wearing his body. Pain flashed through him.

"Sammy, it's here, you have to… Oh god, please…" The words ripped through him, aching, he could taste blood in his throat. He felt the first touch of it on his chest, he tried to tear it out. "No! Please! I'm sorry, please, no!" He stumbled back, Sam caught him. "Sammy, it's here, you have to believe…" It was inching into him. "OH GOD STOP!" It was angry that he'd left, angry it hadn't been there for his awakening. "I said I was sorry! PLEASE! STOP!"

"Dean, give me your arm!" Sam shouted. Dean's offered his arm. _No, please no, not again. _The needle bit down. _Was this all a dream? Am I still there?_

"Sam…" Dean said, trying to focus on the wavering form in front of him. The face was suddenly shifting. Sam caught him as he fell.

"If you're out, it can't find you, Dean."

"Sam, don't let it… If… Does… Kill…" Dean couldn't go on, the drug was working too fast. The last thing he heard was the alarm before darkness claimed him.

The pain was there, filling him. He was watching through eyes that were no longer his own. _No, no. _He struggled to free himself, it held him captive. He tried to cry out, pain shot through him. Where was the one who saved him?

"Dean!" That one's voice suddenly sounded.

"Mphf," he tried to speak, even that sound caused agony to shoot through his body.

"Ah, Dean, no. Please." That one was crying. He could hear the tears in the voice.

"Mfph."

"Hang on." That one—Sam's—voice said sadly. A moment later everything began to fade, even the touch of the thing was gone.

Consciousness returned slowly. At first it was just a difference in the dark, then a cottony softness enveloped him. He drifted there, wondering what had happened. _A nightmare maybe? _Quiet voices were murmuring somewhere close to his head. A moment later he heard the door shut. His hand was wrapped around something warm, the gentle throb of a pulse beating under his thumb. _Sam. _A little more reality returned. They were at the clinic, Sam had brought him earlier that day. Then… His heart sped up. _It was here, looking for me. It knows… _A hand came to rest on his forehead.

"It's okay," Sam said soothingly. _What's wrong with his voice? _His brother sounded like he'd been crying, almost. "You're safe, Dean." Dean opened his eyes, Sam smiled at him. "It's okay, you're safe," he said in a soft sing-song.

"Sam?"

"Dean?" That was in an entirely different tone. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" It was hard to speak, harder than it had been just a little while before.

"Thank god." Sam scrubbed his free hand across his face. "I thought I'd lost you again."

"Lost?"

"You…" Sam swallowed. "You didn't know me, it was like when I first found you."

"Oh, god, Sam." Dean blinked, the light coming through the windows was muted. "How long? What time is it?"

"Dean…" Sam hesitated.

"Sammy? What?" Dean struggled to sit up, Sam helped him.

"It's one in the afternoon."

"The drug put me out fast, but not for too long." He looked at Sam. "What's wrong?"

"Yesterday," Sam choked out.

"What?"

"It was yesterday, Dean."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly.

"What happened?" Dean asked, not sure he wanted an answer.

"Do you remember the hummingbird?" Sam said. Dean nodded. "I gave you the drug. It was here, the alarms went off right after you were out. You woke up several hours later, but you…" Sam swallowed. "It came back, we sedated you again, and kept you out all night."

"Is that all, Sammy?" There was something in his brother's eyes.

"We've thought for a long time there were members of the task force working with it."

"Right?"

"It took one of them yesterday, I think when it couldn't find a victim to take. A man named Eric Jones. He was in the hall outside our office. I heard him screaming. I got the door open as his heart exploded." Sam frowned. "I wonder why it hasn't come after me?"

"You have to be…"

"Dean?"

"Initiated." Dean looked out the window, the sun muted because it was overcast. "Followers go through an initiation ritual that allows it to see them, and even use them as a carrier for a part of itself."

"Part of itself?" Sam asked, curiosity lighting his eyes. Dean smiled inwardly. Sam in research mode, it made it all a little more normal suddenly.

"It has two parts, the energy that invades the victims here, then a physical presence that uses…" _That used me. Violated me. _

"The hosts?" Sam said gently.

"Yeah. The two parts can be united in the Nameless." Dean sighed. "Is there any coffee?"

"Sure." Sam hesitated, then smiled. "Can I have my arm back?" Dean looked down, his hand was still locked around Sam's wrist. He let go with a smile. Sam got up and walked over to the coffeemaker. Their cups from the day before were set beside the machine, the handles precisely aligned with the edge of the file cabinet. Dean looked over at the desk. The few papers were tucked in the corner of the desk, the computer keyboard was perfectly aligned with the monitor, the monitor in line with the back of the desk. Sam's laptop took up a small space on the front edge of the desk, it, too, was lined up with military precision. _Huh. _

"Thanks," Dean said a few minutes later when Sam brought a cup of coffee over. Dean frowned at his brother. Sam looked terrible.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing. Good coffee, Sammy. How can I help?"

"What?"

"I remember we were talking about how you wanted to talk to one of the victims, but couldn't."

"Dean…" Sam trailed off, a pained look crossing his face. _What's wrong, Sammy? _

"Ask, Sam, remember, it's not me, just a victim" He grinned, Sam frowned and tears pooled in his brother's eyes. "Sam? We need to treat this like any other case." _How can I? When I… Oh, god. _Dean swallowed the emotion that tightened his chest.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, sitting down at the desk and opening the laptop. "Does it still hurt to talk?"

"A little."

"A little? Right." Sam sighed and poked at the keys on his computer.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Sam took deep breath and looked at him. "What can you tell me?"

"You need to take a break," Sam said an hour later. Dean looked over at his brother. Sam's eyes were red.

"You too," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah." There was a tap at the door. Dean's heart sped up. "It's okay." Sam said. "What?"

"It's Ronny, Sam."

"Come in." Sam looked at Dean. "He was out of town yesterday, he doesn't know." The young man opened the door and came in. The resemblance to Randy brought a lump to Dean's throat. _They didn't kill either one of our brothers. _Dean sighed.

"Hi, Sam. Hello, Dean." Ronny said, smiling at him.

"Hi, Ronny." Dean smiled back.

"Dean?" Ronny stopped and stared, then looked at Sam. "Sam?"

"He came back yesterday," Sam said quietly.

"Welcome back, Dean." Ronny walked to the desk and leaned on the edge so he could see both of them. "We found another house, just outside of town."

"Have you been there?" Sam asked, all business. Dean watched his brother. Sam had obviously taken a leadership role in the task force.

"I was. It's a little different than the rest. There's an offering table out back, still covered with…"

"Flowers?" Dean sat up. "Are they fresh?"

"Yeah, hardly wilted. You need to check it out, Sam. There were more nests there than I've seen before too."

"Dean will you be okay if…"

"I'm going with you," Dean said, cutting his brother off.

"Dean, no."

"I might be able to help, Sam."

"Sounds like a good idea, Sam." Ronny smiled at him. "I'll meet you at the car in five minutes?"

"Sure," Sam said. He waited until Ronny was gone before he turned to Dean. "I don't think you should go, Dean."

"I might be able to help," Dean repeated. Sam was shaking his head. Dean took a deep breath. "Sammy…" He paused.

"What is it?"

"I can't, I mean I…" Dean felt tears in his eyes. "I'm not…"

"You're not okay?" Sam asked quietly. Dean nodded. "I know. I just don't want this to make it worse."

"I need to…" Dean looked away. _I need to be with you, Sam. I'm afraid to be alone._

"What if it's there?"

"Then you put me out." Dean tried to sound casual. "Better there than here." _Alone._

"Okay, Dean. I still don't like it, but okay."

The house was south of town, out where the plains took over, the vast sweep of grass reaching towards Texas. The lone building was at the end of a long road, the house surrounded by a large windbreak of trees. Sam parked in front of the porch. As Dean got out, the scent of rotting bodies flowed over him. He couldn't stop the sudden nausea. When he'd finished, he realized Sam had a hand on his back, gently supporting him as he'd vomited.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled.

"It's okay, Dean. Here." He handed Dean a surgical mask and slipped one over his face. Dean looked at his brother, trying to imagine the rest of Sam's face beneath the white mask. His hands started to tremble. Sam frowned at him, then pulled the mask off his face. "I'll make it without this." Sam looked over at Ronny as he got out of the Impala. Ronny met Sam's eyes and nodded. "We can handle it without the masks, Dean."

"Thank you." Dean said, looking at Sam. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Dean," Ronny said. "Are you ready? Should we just go around back?"

"No, let me look at the house, I might to see something—something that will help." Dean walked up the porch steps before Sam could stop him. Dean opened the door, the smell was bad. He gagged and waited until his stomach settled down, then walked it. Sam was right behind him as he turned towards the altar room to the right of the entrance. The black stones still stood in the room. Sam brushed past him and shoved the altar over. Dean's heart gave a painful twist. He put his hand on his chest and waited for the sensation to stop before walking to the broken stones.

"They sacrificed you on one of those, Sammy. I watched. I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"What?" Sam turned to look at him.

"They sacrificed you, or I thought it was you. They gave me something, then you were there, trying to rescue me. They killed you." Dean swallowed. "Ripped your heart out."

"Oh, god, Dean," Sam said. "Is that why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"This." Sam reached out and gently turned Dean's left wrist over. The healing slash was there, purple against his skin. Dean ran a finger over the scar.

"I think so. I don't remember actually doing it, but I must have." _Did I? Or did someone else? _Dean looked around the room, hearing the echoes of chanting, the drum, the screams of the victims as they were sacrificed. He turned and quickly walked out of the room and across to the antechamber. There were several bodies in it.

"Sacrifices?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean walked to one, the face, bloated and gray, look familiar. It was a fleeting familiarity, but it was there. A memory was working its way into his brain. He wasn't sure if it was entirely his. It slowly formed. "Oh god. No. No." He backed away from the body and ran into Sam. His brother put a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

"I think I did that," Dean whispered.

"What?"

"While it, when it…" He ran out of the room, Sam right behind him. Dean raced through the house and out the back. Recognition hit him hard. He stopped on the top step and looked out across the yard. There were three tables set in the space behind the house. "I was here, Sam."

"We found you in town."

"I was here, I remember. This place…" Dean walked down the stairs to the tables covered in fresh flowers. "This place is special." He ran a hand over the blossoms, fighting the memories that were crowding in. "They brought us here before it took me."

"Us?"

"Me and Nick." Dean looked at Sam. "Then I was here later."

"What happened to you when they brought you here?"

"It was a ritual to prepare us. We went through several. I told you about the water, and the first one. They brought us here a few days after you died." Dean looked away from his brother. The pain on Sam's face was almost too much to bear. "We were drugged. We were always drugged. The effects varied, but.... They tied us to the tables." Dean frowned, sifting through the images, trying to figure out what was real. "They poured something that smelled sweet over us, then."

Dean walked to third table, devoid of flowers, covered in dark stairs. "They sacrificed someone here. I remember the screams. It called something here, the thing was here in a host, but there was another part of it here as well. There were hummingbirds, a bunch of them. One large one, the biggest I've ever seen. I think it was real." He closed his eyes, letting the ritual play in his head again. He was trembling as he remembered, fighting the urge to run, fighting the urge to hide. Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't remember much after that. I usually let the drug…" He stopped, not wanting to admit that to his brother.

"I understand," Sam said gently. "What else do you remember?"

"Not much, flashes of pain. I think it pierced me." Dean lifted his shirt. "Are there little marks about where my heart is?"

"I thought that was a rash," Sam said, running an hand down his skin. The small wounds ached, the pain increasing the longer he stood by the flower-covered tables.

"It happened then." Dean stopped. "And I was here again, when it was…" He looked at Sam. "I killed that man in there, Sammy."

"No, Dean, you didn't."

"I remember… No. Can we go?" Dean walked away from his brother, away from the tables. His foot caught something as he neared the gate. He picked it up. It was part of a sacrificial knife. Dean dropped it, watching the obsidian shatter as it hit the cement walkway. With a deep breath to control the panic that was consuming him, he walked to the car and got in, making sure the door was locked after he'd closed it. Sam and Ronny got in a few minutes later. Dean suspected the bag Ronny was carrying had the broken knife in it.

"I'm going to drop Ronny off at the clinic. It's getting late. I think we should head back to the house."

"Okay," Dean said. He looked out the window. _I shouldn't have come here. I… I have to tell Sam what happened. _He hadn't mentioned the ritual when it took him to his brother, watching the pain on Sam's face as he described the earlier rituals had been enough. Dean was quiet as they drove through town. He listened to Sam and Ronny's conversation, but it was more background noise than anything. The memories the trip to the house had stirred up, were getting the upper hand. Pain was pulsing through him, nausea was threatening to rip him apart and over it all was terror. Fear of the thing, fear of what would happen, fear for what Sam would say when Dean told him what had happened.

He was trembling, trying to stop the reaction. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him as they pulled up in front of the clinic. Sam patted his hand to get his attention. "I'm going to grab the laptop."

"Okay." Dean said. He watched as his brother disappeared into the clinic. Dean kept his eye trained on the red flowers in front of the building while Sam was gone, looking for the hummingbird that had been there earlier in the day. _No, yesterday. Sam said it was yesterday. _Nothing was moving, but Dean was so focused on the flowers he started when Sam opened the door.

"On our way," Sam said, starting the car. As soon as the engine was on Dean reached over and grabbed Sam's wrist. His brother looked down at his hand, then over at him with a sad smile. "Can it find you at the house?"

"They would have had to perform the rituals there or an initiate would have to be there," Dean said.

"So, if I see anyone I don't know, I'll shoot them," Sam said with an attempt at a grin. "Even kids selling candy."

"Especially kids selling candy." Dean looked at his brother with a smile. He knew it didn't reach his eyes, knew Sam saw that as well. "Harry will be around."

"Are you and the dog going to start ganging up on me again?"

"He has good taste," Dean said, trying to still the panic that was flaring against his heart.

"Dean?"

"Sorry, Sam. Going there was harder than I thought it would be."

"Will you be okay?" Sam asked quietly as he pulled into the driveway.

"I don't know." Dean got out of the car and walked through the house. Harry was waiting on the back porch. Dean opened the door and the large dog bounded into the house. He scratched the dog's head, Harry leaned against his leg. "Hi, Harry." The dog looked up at him happily. "It's good to see you." The dog responded by wagging his tail, it quickly became a full body wag.

"Dean? Do you want something to eat?" Sam opened the fridge. "CJ said you could have soup."

"Chicken noodle?"

"Yeah, I had Bobby get some the other day." Sam closed the fridge and grabbed a couple of cans of soup out of the cupboard. Dean sat on the floor, Harry put his head in his lap as Sam heated up the soup. When it was steaming, Sam filled two mugs and sat on the floor beside Dean.

"Thanks." Dean looked at his brother. They ate in silence, Sam's shoulder a warm against his. Dean realized he was leaning more and more against Sam as they finished. When he was done, Sam took the mug out of his hands and stood.

"Can I take a shower?" Dean asked. Suddenly he could smell the scent of rotting flesh wafting off his body.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"I can smell it, the house, I need to get it off, Sam. Please." Dean held out his hand and Sam pulled him onto his feet.

"You don't smell, Dean."

"Yes, I do! Please, Sammy." He said desperately, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it on the floor, the smell was suddenly too much to stand.

"Okay, let me get the water on."

"Hurry, Sammy, please." Dean followed Sam into the bathroom, his brother turned on the water and handed him a clean towel. Dean quickly undressed and stepped into the warm spray. He picked up the soap and started scrubbing at himself, trying to get rid of the smell that had permeated his skin and was now filling the steam in the bathroom. _Maybe if I get the smell off, it won't find me. _He scrubbed harder, tears running down his cheeks. _I have to get it off, I have to get it off. _

"Dean!" Sam's shouted and the water was turned off. "My god, Dean." Sam wrapped a towel around him and guided him to the toilet. "Oh god." Sam gently dabbed at Dean's chest with the towel. Dean looked down, blood was running down his chest from several raw spots. "Hang on," Sam said gently. He dried Dean off, then helped him into a pair of sweats. "Dean?"

"It can still smell it, Sammy. If it's off, maybe it can't find me." Dean looked around the small room as if it could find him there. "Maybe it can't find me again. It told me when it does…" Dean swallowed, trying to stop the words.

"Dean what happened?" Sam said gently.

"I told you they gave us drugs?" Sam nodded. "After awhile, Sam, I wanted the drugs. They let me see you after you died." Tears were running down Dean's face, there were answering tears in Sam's eyes. "It… It wore me, used my body like its own. I killed that man, I think I killed other people. I remember the taste of their blood in my mouth, the feeling of their beating heart in my hands."

Dean took a breath, it quickly became a sob. "It killed you, made me watch, then it killed me. Sammy, I wanted to die, I wanted…" The sobs tore out of his chest as he collapsed against his brother. Sam's arms wrapped around him and held him as he wept. "Oh, god, Sammy, it took me, violated me. Took everything I was and enjoyed it, then it came back for more. It, it was in me, Sammy. In my body. I can still feel it," he said, his head buried against Sam.

"It's not there now, Dean," Sam said in a soft sing-song. The tone reminded Dean of himself when he had tried to calm Sam as a child. "I won't let it take you again." Dean nodded, unable to speak around the tears, around the pain. Slowly the sobs diminished, he stayed against Sam.

"Sorry," he said softly when he could manage a whisper.

"You need to sleep," Sam said. "CJ gave me something to help, something that will let you sleep deep enough so…"

"I won't dream?"

"Yeah." Sam pulled one arm away from Dean. He stayed where he was as his brother ran some water in a glass. "Here." Dean lifted his head, Sam handed him a pill and the glass without moving the arm that was still over Dean's shoulders. Dean took the pill. While his head was back he felt a needle pinch his arm.

"Sammy?"

"It will help you relax until the pill takes effect, Dean. It won't hurt you, I promise."

"You wouldn't hurt me," Dean said, the warmth already spreading through his body.

"Do you want to lie down?"

Dean nodded and Sam lifted him to his feet. He leaned against Sam, his legs seemed unwilling to bear his weight. Sam half-carried him to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed. Harry hopped up beside Dean and stretched out with a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Dean, don't." Sam put his hand on Dean's chest. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I killed people."

"The thing killed people."

"I was happy when they gave me the drugs." Dean's eyes drifted closed.

"Of course you were, it let you escape for awhile."

"I let it take me," he said

"No, Dean, you didn't. It did that to you, you didn't help."

"Will I wake up me?" Dean asked. He felt Sam's hand trembling on his chest.

"Yeah, Dean."

"Promise?" He was suddenly afraid to sleep, suddenly afraid of what might happen.

"Promise," Sam said. Dean left himself drift into darkness, right as he slipped away he heard his brother's voice, full of tears. "Please come back tomorrow, Dean. Please."

_**To Be Continued**_


	11. A Shade to Vanish Hence

_A/N: Sorry this update has taken so long! I am trying to catch up on review replies, please be patient with me. Your reviews keep me writing! Thank you everyone for all your support. "That which gets me stuck on bed rest" has raised it's ugly head again, and I have limited time with my computer, so I have been focusing on getting chapters out for everyone! __**Warnings**__ as before. _

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Ten**

_**A shade to vanish hence**_

The soft sound of someone groaning woke him from the drugged sleep. He lay listening to the noise, full of panic and fear. Shifting in bed, he came up against the bulk of Harry the dog. The large canine grumbled a little, and started snoring. The sounds continued for a moment longer, he started to drift back to sleep.

"DEAN!" The anguished shout pulled him back. Harry jumped up, growling. "Dean?" Sam bent over him.

"Hmm?" Dean opened his eyes and blinked trying to focus on the room, the drugs had him well in their grip and it was taking awhile to clear the fog. He reached out for his brother. Sam looked down at his hand then back at his face.

"Ah, Dean, no." Sam swallowed and patted his chest.

"Smm?" He tried to get the name out, his tongue felt thick. _Stupid sleeping pills. _

"It's okay, Dean, we're at the house," Sam said softly, his voice breaking. Before Dean could take another stab at talking, his brother gently detached his hand and walked quickly out of the room.

Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position. The first rays of dawn were lighting the curtains. There was a crumpled blanket on the floor. Sam must have been sleeping beside the bed. With a deep breath he stood, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass before he followed the sounds of Sam's harsh breathing through the house. His brother was sitting on the couch in the living room, head in hands, shaking violently. Dean squatted down in front of his brother and put his hand on Sam's knee. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam's head came up, his eyes red.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"You… I thought…" Sam took a deep breath. "You shouldn't be up, Dean, you should go back to bed."

"Sam?"

"It's okay, Dean, I'll be there in a minute."

"Sam," Dean sighed. He got up and sat down beside his brother. "Talk to me."

"It's nothing, Dean," Sam insisted.

Dean took a breath, speaking hurt, and for some reason every word hurt more than the last. Something was coming and he knew it. _But that doesn't matter right now_. "I know."

"Know?" Sam turned to look at him.

"What happened to me, Sammy. I…" He swallowed, not bothering to fight the tears. "I'm not okay."

"You will be."

"You don't know that."

"It's only been a few days, Dean, give it time."

"I don't know anymore, Sam." Dean took a shaky breath. "I know that, I know what it means, but…"

"Dean…"

"But if you… If I…" He broke off, not sure how to explain, not sure if Sam would understand.

"Oh, god," Sam whispered, closing his eyes. "Dean, I…" He stopped for a minute, shook his head and looked at Dean. "I'm sorry."

"Sammy?"

"It's been a long time, Dean. I've… Never mind." He suddenly shifted so he was leaning against Dean. "I had a dream. We were in the office and there was a hummingbird outside the window. It pushed through the glass and the thing was behind it—it came through, too. I tried to stop it, but it killed you like the other victims, your chest opened and your heart exploded before my eyes. I couldn't stop it, Dean." Sam was trembling. Dean clenched his fists, the wound in his chest throbbing. _It's coming. Oh, god, please no. _

"It was just a dream, Sam."

"I know, but…" Sam sighed.

"Wait? You've seen the thing?"

"What? Yeah, well not really."

"That's not helpful, Sammy," Dean said, trying to keep his voice from revealing the pain speaking caused.

Sam looked and him and frowned. "It's getting harder to talk, isn't it? More painful?"

"No, it's not. What did you mean, you've not really seen it?"

"We caught one of them, we were questioning him and it found him. I think I saw it, just for a second."

"You caught one of them?" Dean asked, trying to look away from the horror reflected in Sam's eyes.

"Yeah, he said… he said he helped prepare the victims." Sam swallowed. "He, I think he's the one…"

"He's dead?" Dean asked, the mask suddenly swimming before his eyes. Fear made his mouth dry.

"Yes."

"How? The thing?"

"I think Dirk shot him." Sam paused and looked away, when he looked back, his eyes were hard. "I wanted to let it kill him and I hope it did."

"Sammy?" Dean put his hand on his brother's arm, the look in Sam's eyes scared him.

"That's when I thought I saw it, just for an instant. Dean I…" Sam's phone started ringing. "Dirk?" he said when he answered.

"Sam, we've got something, something new, you need to get out here."

"Where are you?" Sam asked, looking at Dean.

"Out by the wildlife refuge, I'll head up to the main road and meet you."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Sam broke the connection. "Dean, maybe you should…"

"No, maybe I can help, Sam." Dean met his brother's eyes, begging him to understand.

"Okay," Sam said quietly. "Get Harry up and send him home and let's go."

**XXX**

Dirk met them at a little-used dirt road Sam wouldn't even have noticed. Dirk waved at them and got back in his car, leading them down the narrow track. Sam could see a small stand of trees and something that might have once been an outbuilding for a farm or ranch. Most of the Roswell team was assembled there. Sam parked the car. When he got out of the car, the stench of rotting flesh flowed over him, he gagged and looked at Dean. His brother's face was white, Sam could see his jaw clenching. "Dean?"

"I'll manage," Dean said. Sam noticed, again, how his brother's usual "I'm fine" or "I'm okay" was missing from the conversation. Sam walked over to where the team was assembled. "What's going on?"

"A hiker stumbled across this place," Dirk said. "Smelled it, I guess, and reported it to the cops, they called about half an hour ago after checking it out. They didn't go in, the cop had the good sense to call. We haven't been in, we were waiting for you."

"What do we know?"

"It looks like they set up some kind of makeshift altar in back, there's broken pottery scattered around and half of a jade bowl," Ronny said. "I didn't get a good look at anything, I wanted you here before we started messing with stuff."

"Thanks," Sam said. "Okay, I'll go in the house first, then we'll go out back. Ronny and Dirk you're with me, Ian you lead a team and check out the area, see what else we can find." Sam looked around. "Where are Bobby and CJ?"

"The alarms were going off all night at the clinic, I told them to stay there," Dirk looked at him.

"Why wasn't I called?" Sam demanded, he felt Dean's eyes on him.

"Bobby said…" Dirk hesitated. "Sorry, I should have called."

"Yeah, you should have. Let's get ready to move in," Sam said. Dirk turned and walked away, stopping to talk to Ian. Sam looked at his brother, Dean had a little smile on his face. It was the fond smile, the one Sam knew was only for him, reserved for times when Dean was particularly proud of him.

"You're doing a good job, Sam," Dean said quietly.

"Thanks. Are you sure you're up to this, Dean?"

"No, but let's go."

Dirk was handing out surgical masks, Sam and Ronny declined and Dirk gave them a funny look. Once the teams were ready, Sam waved them into motion. Sam led the way to the shack, the door fell off the hinges when he touched it, the stench increased. He stepped in, aware of Dean, Ronny and Dirk behind him. The buzzing of flies filled the small room, they hung in the air like a black curtain, nearly obscuring what else was in the room, nearly, but not quite. There were bodies everywhere, stacked around the room like slowly rotting wood, the chests torn open, white maggots moving on the gray flesh. In the middle of the room were the remains of several pottery vessels. Ronny walked over and crouched down to look at them, Sam moved to look at the bodies. "Sacrifices," Sam said.

Dean was standing beside him, looking at the stack of bodies. "They're all sacrifices, Sam."

"Are you sure?" Dirk said from the other side of the room.

"Yes," Dean said, he walked around the room, Sam could see his hands shaking. "How many are there?"

"Twenty," Dirk said a moment later.

"Twenty?" Sam said, the number seemed to mean something, he wasn't sure what.

"I think there were thirteen bowls here, Sam," Ronny said standing. "Weird."

"What?" Sam asked, turning to Ronny.

"Well, think about it, they don't usually leave anything but bodies."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"They wanted us to find this," Dean said suddenly, he looked at Sam, his eyes haunted.

"Dean?"

"I…" Dean shook his head and walked out of the shack. Sam followed, his brother walked around the small building to the back, a picnic table stood next to the remains of a fire.

"Is that a sacrificial altar?" Ronny asked, coming up beside them.

"Yes," Dean said. He slowly approached the table, it was covered with flies, echoing the black cloud in the building. "Look," Dean pointed at something hovering over the table. A large hummingbird hung in the air. "It's watching us."

"Sam? Look at this." Ronny called.

Sam walked to where Ronny was squatting on the ground. There was part of a green bowl and a piece of pottery in front of him. "What is it?"

"I think it's an effigy." Ronny pointed at the pottery. Sam looked at it. It was part of a face, just the lower half of one side. The face was distorted, it looked almost like two faces in one. It looked vaguely familiar.

"No," Dean whispered.

"Dean?"

"I need to go, Sam, I have to, I'm sorry." Dean turned and ran out of the area, back towards the front of the shack where the car was parked.

"Go, Sam, I've got this," Ronny said.

"Thanks." Sam followed his brother, Dean was inside the Impala, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. "Dean?"

"It was an effigy, Sam, they wanted us to find it. They wanted me to see it." Dean looked up at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed. "I'll wait here, if you want to talk to the teams."

"Will you be okay?"

"No, but I can wait. Lock the door, please, Sam."

Sam looked at his brother for a minute, then got out of the car. Dirk and Ronny came over. "I'm going to go back to the clinic. I want to research the effigy, something about all this is starting to seem familiar. I can't place it," Sam said.

"We'll wrap it up here, Sam," Dirk said.

"I'll have a report to you later this afternoon." Ronny was looking over Sam's shoulder. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear that thing is listening to us."

"What?" Sam turned around, another hummingbird, this one with a red throat, was hovering a few feet from him. "I think we should pack up."

"But Sam…"

"No, Ronny, we need to go. Now," Sam said. Screams suddenly erupted from outside the trees, Ian and his team were running towards them, a huge swarm of bees behind them. "Go!" Sam ran for the Impala, Dean must have noticed what was happening, as Sam approached the car, the door swung open. Sam dove inside and slammed the door right as the swarm reached them. It hit the car with enough force to move the Impala on its shocks. "Does it know you're here?" Sam asked, turning the car on and pulling out.

"No, it's not here. I think they would have attacked anyone."

"But you think they wanted us to find this place?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Those sacrifices, the bowls, the effigy, something big is coming. They wanted us to know."

"Yeah." Sam drove down the dirt road as quickly as he could, heading for the highway into town. Dean was quiet beside him, Sam risked a glance at his brother, Dean's hands were clenched into fist, his knuckles white against his skin. There were several cars in the lot when they arrived. Sam pulled into their space. "Ready?"

"Sure."

They got out. As they approached the door, Sam noticed a huge hummingbird by the window to their office. Just behind it he thought he saw the shadow of the thing. "Dean!" Sam shouted, his brother turned to look at him as three men in masks stepped from the side of the building. Sam saw one of them raise a gun, then the bite of a dart stung his leg. He pulled it out, but the damage was done, he pitched forward into the dark.

There was something pulling him out of the black void, something insistent, a harsh voice. His sense of smell returned, the nauseating stench of rotting flesh eddied around him like a living thing. Sam swallowed trying to contain the nausea, it was worse, so much worse, than walking into one of the houses, it felt like it was on his skin and crawling through his brain. He groaned and tried to shift, his hands were bound at wrist and elbow. The smell, as well as the residual affects of the drug, were too much, he managed to push himself to his knees before his stomach emptied itself. When the dry heaves started to ease, the sound crept back in.

"Sam? Sammy? Sam?"

"Dean?" he answered.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." He opened his eyes, it was dark, only a small amount of light coming in from the crack under the door.

"Sammy?"

"I'm okay, Dean. Where are you?"

"In the corner, farthest from the door." Dean's voice was small, like a frightened animal.

Sam slid across the floor until his back came into contact with the wall, then moved along the wall until he ran into Dean. His brother leaned against him with a sigh. Sam tried to get a better look at the room they were in as his eyes slowly adjusted to the almost complete darkness. The room was about ten feet square, the door in the far corner from where they were. He thought there might be the remains of an old bed by one wall, he could just make out a darker shadow in the room. "Are we alone?"

"As far as I can tell," Dean said quietly, Sam could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to speak.

"Where are we? Still in Roswell?" he asked, but not really caring.

"I don't know." Dean paused, Sam could feel him trembling. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Near the end, when I was here with Nick, we made a promise to each other."

"What was that?"

"If you get a chance, kill me. I promise the same for you."

"Dean," Sam paused, thinking about what his brother had told him, thinking of how Dean had been when they'd found him. He took a deep breath. "Promise." He didn't know if he could, but he felt Dean relax a little when he said it. "We'll get out of here, though."

"You might, I don't think I will." Dean shifted so more of his weight was resting on Sam. "If it takes me again, Sammy, don't let me live like that, please."

"No." It was a denial of everything, the situation, the request, everything.

"Thank you," Dean said softly.

They were quiet, Sam tried to shift to make the ache in his shoulders go away, nothing seemed to help. He tried stretching out his legs, and ended up getting a splinter in his heel. "They took my shoes," he said indignantly.

Dean actually chuckled a little. "You just noticed?"

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yep. Sammy, I…" Dean stopped, Sam heard his breathing change. "No," he whispered. Before he could asked Dean what was wrong, he heard what his brother had—footsteps. Dean rested his head on Sam's shoulder for a moment. "Remember the promise."

"I will."

The door opened, light flooding into the room, Sam blinked, his eyes watering. Four men in masks came in the room. Dean tried to fold in on himself, Sam moved so he was in front of his brother. A fifth man came in the room, wearing a more elaborate mask, it looked like a death's head with bright red glittering eyes. He waited while the four others approached, they tried to grab one of Dean's legs, Sam threw himself in front of him.

"Stay back," Sam growled.

"Silence!" One of them backhanded him, he saw stars for a moment, it was enough so they dragged him away from Dean. Two of them held him down, while two pulled Dean over to the one with the red eyes.

"Let him go!" Sam shouted.

"What's your name?" the one with the red eyes asked.

Sam could see his brother trembling, but Dean raised his head. "Dean. You freak."

"Cut the ropes," Red Eyes said. They cut the bonds holding Dean and held his left arm out.

"No, please, no," Dean whispered.

"Hang on, Dean!" Sam called. Sam watched as the needle slipped into his brother's arm. Dean sagged. "Dean!"

"What's your name?" Red Eyes asked. Dean stayed with his head hanging down.

"Answer him Dean! Say your name!"

Red Eyes turned towards Sam. He walked over. "Your words offend."

"Too bad."

"We'll see about that." He nodded to the men holding Sam, his leg was pulled out. He tried to yank it back and one of them hit him in the kidney. The other leaned all his weight on Sam's leg. With the skill of a showman, Red Eyes pulled a syringe from his pocket. He waved it in front on Sam's face, then with agonizingly slow movements ran it into Sam's foot, depressing the plunger as he went. It started as a warm sting, then graduated to actual pain, running up his legs and through his body. He tried to fight the affects, but it was too much, he sagged against the bonds. "Good." Red Eyes turned back to his brother. "What's your name?"

"Dean! Come on!" Sam managed, even though his tongue felt thick.

Dean raised his head. "Dean."

"Silence." He pulled another syringe out and drove it into Dean's neck.

"NO!" Sam shouted.

"Bring them."

They carried them through the house. Sam tried to keep track of where they were going, but the drug was working its way into his system. His body refused to respond to the commands he was trying to send it. They reached a room, full of people, a drum keeping time for the chanting group. Sam was carried to the front of the room and forced down on his knees. He tried to look around the room.

"No, watch the altar," one of the men holding him said. His head obediently turned back to the front of the room. _Oh no, Dean. _

His brother was placed on the altar, it was covered in flowers. More flowers were laid on his body, then blood poured over him. They pulled open Dean's mouth and poured the last of the blood in his mouth. When they let him go, Dean turned his head towards Sam, their eyes met for a moment. It was goodbye, Sam knew it, Dean knew it.

"Sit up!" Red Eyes said. Dean sat up, Sam closed his eyes as a man approached Dean with a knife in his hands.

"Open your eyes." Sam's eyes popped open. "Don't close them again."

The strip of skin they cut from Dean's back was held up for all to see, the chanting increased.

"He is ready."

The chanting increased. Men grabbed his brother and held his arms and legs away from his body. The curtain behind the altar was shoved aside and the thing came into the room. It was so much worse than the fleeting glimpse Sam had seem, the mass of it stood writhing before them before walking to the altar. Red Eyes hands closed on Dean's throat. _No, Dean. _The thing ran a hand over Dean's face and down his body, stopping at the wound in his chest. Sam could see Dean trying to fight the hands holding him down, trying to breath.

Sam watched in horror as the thing stabbed into Dean, then withdrew. He could see tears running down Dean's face, felt tears on his own. _No, no, please, no. _The thing bent over Dean and Sam saw it slid slowly into the hole in Dean's sternum, he could see Dean's flesh rippling as it moved up his rib cage. When it reached Dean's neck, Red Eyes let go. Dean started screaming. His face was slowly distorting as the thing moved through there, Sam saw something that looked like a tiny black snake move out of Dean's neck and gently probe his ear, a second later it stabbed into Dean's head. His brother screamed once more, his body tensing, fighting the violation, then relaxed, dropping down as limply as if he'd died. Part of Sam wished he had.

It stood then and turned to them, and when the thing wearing his brother's body stopped before him, it all came crashing in. Sam knew what they were facing, knew what it was and understood what had just taken his brother.

And it was far too late.

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: I would like to take a chance to say my book, __**The Legacy, Book One of the Custodes Noctis,**__ is now available on Amazon(dot) com and Target (dot) com. (The first two chapters are up on my website and the search inside function is up on Amazon) I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for all your support and love which has kept me writing through a very rough year, and I so happy I can share Galen and Rob with you! I've written a crossover fic of sorts to introduce you (The Apothecary) or you can check out the first chapters at my website!_


	12. Hellish Jarring Sounds

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I am slowly catching up on my replies, please be patient with me! __**Warnings**__ as before. I am consciously blending my mythology a bit, I mean no offense. Not death fic. _

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Eleven**

_**Hellish Jarring Sounds**_

The alarms were blaring, Bobby ran out of his office and down the hall towards the last of the victim's room. He opened the door, CJ was there before him, the victim—Dean said his name was Nick—was unconscious. At the very edge of his vision, Bobby thought he caught a glimpse of the thing, moving along the wall by the window, then it was gone. He shook his head. _Maybe I'm seeing things. _

"Everything okay?" he asked CJ.

"Yes, he was still sedated when the alarms went off, it can't find him," she said, walking towards him. She tucked her arm through his. "When is this going to be over, Bobby?"

"I don't know. Now that Dean's back, maybe he can help Sam figure it out."

"Dean is not very stable, you know that."

"I know, but they're always better together," Bobby said, walking out of the room and heading back to his office. "I was beginning to worry about Sam. I still do, but the edge seems to be gone."

"I don't think it's gone, it's just better controlled." She sat down in the chair by his desk.

"Maybe." Bobby paused when the intercom buzzed. "Yeah?"

"Can you send Sam and Dean down to my office, Bobby?" Ronny asked.

"What?"

"Can you send them down to my office? I have the pottery we found at the site and I wanted to talk with Sam about it."

"They aren't here," Bobby said, confused.

"They weren't in Sam's office," Ronny replied.

"They haven't come back yet, Ronny," CJ said, leaning towards the speaker.

"What? No, they left before I did and the Impala is in the lot. Bobby…?"

"Meet me at Sam's office." Bobby nearly ran through the clinic, the door to the Winchesters' office was still locked. Ronny rounded the corner as Bobby turned to the exit. They walked into the parking lot, the Impala sat in its assigned parking spot.

"Bobby?" Ronny said, bending over to pick something up from under the bushes. He held up Sam's phone. "Do you think…?"

"They've got them. God damn it, they've got them both," Bobby said, hearing a note of utter despair in his voice.

**XXX**

The all-pervading stench was the first thing that crept back into his awareness. Pain was second. Sam groaned, his voice loud in the silent room. His arms and shoulders ached. He managed to get his feet under him, some of the pain eased as he stood. There were metal shackles on his wrists, the tight bands cutting into his flesh, his arms were suspended above his head. Sam opened his eyes to darkness. The tiny slit of light coming from under the door was dim. The residual affects of the drug they'd given him were still with him, his mouth was dry and his head ached. _What the hell was that shit? How long have we been here?_

"Dean?" he called softly. No answer. "Dean?" he looked around the dark room, he could make out the shadow of the bed against the far wall, but nothing else. He was alone. Sam took a deep breath to still the rising panic. After a moment, he had himself under a tight rein, ready to figure out a way to escape. He could feel the anger and despair bubbling in his chest, when it boiled over he had no idea what would happen. For now, it was under control.

He looked up, trying to get a better idea of his bonds. They looked like handcuffs with a little extra chain on them. He tried to move his hands a little, the shackles were so tight on his wrist he could barely move them. _Damn. _It was while he was trying to figure out a way to loosen the cuffs that the solution presented itself. It was so simple, Sam actually chuckled in relief. Whoever had picked the room, whoever had devised the torture for the prisoners had also planned on much smaller victims. Sam stood on his tip-toes and eased the chain off the hook.

Once his hands were down, he walked silently over to the bed. He looked at it, a small piece of wire was sticking up from one of the metal springs. Bending it back and forth, he managed to fatigue the metal enough to break it loose and made quick work of getting the cuffs off. He broke the lock on the cuffs so he could get them on and off easily if he needed to. His wrists were bleeding a little, but he ignored the pain and the rush of blood back into his hands. He had no idea how much time he had, and he needed to make the most of it. The bed had four metal posts that served as legs and once had held the head and foot boards. Sam dropped to his knees and examined one of the posts. It was attached to the bed with two large screws. He tried to loosen the screws with his wire, it bent on the first try.

_Okay, that won't work. I need a screwdriver of some kind. _Sam started crawling along the edge of the bed, sweeping his hand under it, hoping to find something that would work. When he reached the end of the bed, he hit pay dirt. One of the screws on the post had broken and there was a metal washer lying on the floor. _Don't be too big, please don't be too big. _Sam fit the washer into the slot on the screw and breathed a sigh of relief. It fit. _Now comes the hard part. _His hands were slick with blood and holding onto the small washer was more difficult that he thought it would be. On the sixth attempt he got the screw to move. He kept one hand on the bed frame as he took the screw out, he didn't want it to slam to the floor and alert them. Once the screw was all the way out, he carefully pulled the leg away. He gently eased the bed down and hefted the leg. It was heavy enough to make a good weapon, and the top where the headboard had once been attached had two sharp edges. _The bar mace, one of the most popular weapons of the late middle ages, no skilled needed. Remains found all over Europe. _His mind dredged the quote up from somewhere. He grinned.

Sam slipped over to the door and tried the knob, it turned easily. He opened the door and listened. There were a lot of voices echoing through the house. _Not yet, too many of them and I don't know where Dean is. _He walked silently back to the bed and set the leg in place, pushing the screw back in only far enough to support the frame.

Leaning against the wall, he tried to figure out a plan. _Find Dean, get us out of here, then figure a way to keep that thing away from him. _Seeing the ritual and suddenly knowing what had his brother terrified Sam. _We've fought something like a god before, but this…_He sighed. _No time for that now. Get out first. _Sam scrubbed a hand across his face, rubbing his temples in hopes of easing the headache that was pounding through his skull. A plan was beginning to form when he heard footsteps. He quickly slipped the handcuffs back on and hung the chain over the hook, bending his knees a little so it looked like he was hanging from it.

The light coming though the cracks suddenly increased and the door was slammed open. Sam closed his eyes against the sudden brightness, tears stinging against his lids. He heard something drop to the floor and the door was shut. Before he could open his eyes he heard a latch and lock click into place. _Damn and double damn. _He left his eyes closed, so they could re-adjust to the darkness, when a tiny sound caused them to snap open. His brother was just inside the door, lying face down. "Dean!" Sam slipped his hands off the hook and pulled the cuffs off.

Sam moved quickly, but silently, to Dean and gently turned him over. "Oh god," he whispered. The wound on Dean's sternum was open again and seeping blood, even in the near darkness Sam could see bruises along Dean's ribcage and his face was covered in blood. Sam lifted Dean, propping him against his chest. "Dean?" Tears were burning their way down Sam's face. "Dean?" His brother's eyes fluttered open. "Dean?" Sam whispered desperately, willing him to answer. Dean turned his head so it was buried against Sam's shoulder and lifted a hand to lock around Sam's arm. "Dean, are you in there?"

His only answer was a tiny whimper.

Sam dropped his head so his cheek was resting against Dean's hair. "Hang on, I'll get us out of here, I promise," he said softly. Despair was getting the upper hand, though, and for the moment he was paralyzed with grief.

**XXX**

"Twenty-four hours!" Bobby nearly shouted, slamming the door into the clinic. He heard Ronny and Dirk behind him. "And nothing." They had searched every known house in the area, going north to Portales and south to Carlsbad. Bobby was desperate, the rest of the team shared his desperation. CJ came out of her office, Bobby met her eyes and shook his head.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

"Yeah," he growled.

"I'm going to do a little research, we found that effigy, but I haven't had any time to look at it. I have an idea, though," Ronny said. He walked down the hall towards his office.

"We'll find them," Dirk said, laying a hand on Bobby's shoulder.

"In time?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," CJ said softly.

"They're like family, my boys," Bobby said, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"You need to sleep," CJ said, pulling him towards her office.

"No, I can't."

"Just a nap, you've been awake for too long to think straight, sleep or I sedate you," she said, looking at him with a frown.

"I'll sit down for a few minutes, how's that?" Bobby said, dropping into a chair. _I'll just rest my eyes for a minute. _

"Bobby?" CJ was shaking him.

"I thought you wanted me to sleep," he grumbled.

"You've been asleep for two hours, Ronny wants to see us."

"Oh." Bobby sat up and took the cup of coffee CJ held out to him. "Thanks." They walked through the clinic to Ronny's office. Dirk was already there, looking grim, when they arrived.

"I don't know if this is good or bad," Ronny said without preamble. "But I think I know what we're dealing with. I think Sam had it almost figured out, looking at his notes." Ronny took a deep breath and turned his laptop around. On the screen was a complete figure, the face almost identical to the broken effigy they'd found.

"Oh, no," Bobby whispered.

"Not a demon?" Dirk asked.

"No," Ronny said quietly. "It's a god."

"A god? How do we kill a god?" Dirk demanded.

"We find it first," Bobby said, keeping his voice calm, trying to hide the terror coursing through his body.

"How?" CJ asked.

"I don't know. How did they grab Sam and Dean? No one knew they were coming back except for the teams out there," Ronny said.

"So our traitor is in one of the teams?" Dirk said, shaking his head. "We checked them out."

"I know," Bobby said.

"Maybe they were just waiting for Sam and Dean? Got lucky?"

"I don't think so," Bobby said, pacing across the library and back. _Someone had to tell them, we would have seen them. _He stalked back to the desk and across the library towards the corridor. The need to do something, anything, driving him to nervous activity. Bobby automatically checked the corridor as he approached, then turned to walk back. Something caught his eye, he froze. "Dirk? Ronny?" he called softly, then stepped into the hall, watching the figure slip into the last victim's room.

Bobby walked quickly down the hall and opened the door. "Ian! Freeze!" he said, pulling his gun. "Don't even think about it," he said as Ian started to lower the obsidian knife towards the motionless figure on the bed. Ian turned to him, hatred on his face.

"Ian?" Ronny said quietly, coming into the room. Bobby turned to look at the young man, something in Ronny's voice set alarm bells ringing in his head. _It's that same calm Sam has, not good. _Ronny walked over to Ian and wrapped his hand around the other's wrist. Ian grimaced in pain as the knife slipped from his fingers. "You? You were working for that filth?"

"You defile him," Ian spat.

"Where are Sam and Dean?" Dirk asked him.

"They are serving him," Ian said.

"Where are they?" Ronny said with the dangerous calm in his voice. Ian groaned and dropped to his knees. "You know," Ronny said conversationally, the tone sent a shiver of fear up Bobby's spine, he glanced over a Dirk. "One of the interesting things about ethnobotany is you learn a lot about poisons. And not just that, things like how long the body can go on, how much pain it can take, how much pain something can inflict before it's not useful any longer," Ronny continued almost dreamily.

"Like you have the guts to do anything like that. Your brother didn't even have the strength to face him, he killed himself like a coward," Ian growled. Bobby knew Ian had made a mistake with the taunt, but before he could stop Ronny, he'd pulled a syringe out of his pocket and shoved it into Ian's arm, still held in a vice-like grip. Bobby watched as a red line ran up Ian's arm. Ronny dropped him and Ian fell to the floor, screaming.

"Yeah, well, my brother was the humane one," Ronny said quietly, crouching down beside Ian. "Where are they?"

"Fuck off," Ian said.

"Okay, I can wait." Ronny sat back on his heels.

"Ronny…" Bobby said in horror as the red streaked across Ian's face and one eye suddenly went bloody.

"No, Bobby, they killed Randy and how many others? And now they have Sam and Dean? No time for mercy."

"Ronny…"

"No!" He turned back to Ian. "Where are they?" Ian started screaming. "That won't help, tell me where they are and you get the antidote. Dirk can arrest you, all taken care of." The screams increased. "Sorry, scream all you want, I have all day."

"Ronny, you can't!" Dirk said, turning his gun on Ian.

"Pull that trigger and I'll kill you," Ronny said quietly. "Where are they?" Ian screamed incoherently. "I forgot to mention, this can go on for a long, long time. I think one source said five hours."

"Ronny!"

"Where are they?" he asked almost gently. Ian was writhing on the floor, clutching his head. "Where are they?"

"Outside of town." Ian screamed, agony pulsing through his voice. "A ranch, out by the park. There's a cow skull on the driveway."

"Not good enough," Ronny said. Ian screamed the address. "Better. Thank you." He stood and walked towards the door.

"Give me the antidote," Bobby said, holding out his hand.

"There isn't one, shoot him if you want," Ronny said calmly. "We need to get going." He walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

**XXX**

"I have a plan to get us out of here," Sam said quietly. "It's not a great plan, but it's a plan." He was talking, more to let his brother know he was there than anything else. Dean still had his head turned to Sam's shoulder and his hand locked around Sam's arm so tight it hurt. "Just hang on a little longer, Dean, please." Sam was gently rocking back and forth. He'd started earlier when the tears and grief caught him, once he calmed down he realized it was comforting Dean—his brother had relaxed fractionally and the soft, sobbing whimpers had quieted. "We'll get out. I promise." It was the hundredth time he'd said it since they brought Dean back.

His brother suddenly whimpered, trying to burrow against him. "What's wrong?" Sam thought he heard footsteps. "Okay, Dean, I'm going to set you down. This is part of the plan, I'll get us out, or I'll keep the other promise." He couldn't quite bring himself to say it. "Trust me, Dean. I'm here. Trust me." Sam gave Dean a final hug, and laid him on the floor. "Trust me." He stood and slipped the cuffs back on and hung the chain from the hook, making sure that it was just laying on the hook and none of the links were caught on anything. He just made it, the lock clicked and the door slammed open a second later.

"Take the Nameless One," Red Eyes said, coming into the room with two other men in masks. They picked Dean up, Sam heard his brother's soft groan of pain.

"Hang on, Dean," he said to his brother. "What no drugs this time?" Sam said as the men carried Dean out.

"Not needed once he takes them. They do his will." Red Eyes watched them drag Dean down the hall.

"Trust me, Dean!" Sam shouted.

"You, however," Red Eyes said, closing the door, "need a little more preparation." He walked over to Sam and backhanded him. Sam took a deep breath and counted to three, trying to ease his hand out of the cuff without Red Eyes noticing. "I'm going to enjoy this," the man said with a cruel laugh.

"Yeah, I bet you are," Sam said as he pulled his hand free. He swung the chain, connecting with Red Eyes head, the man staggered. It gave Sam enough time to get to the bed and yank the leg free. His carefully control was suddenly gone, fury filled him, rage burned white hot through his veins. He swung the piece of bed and hit Red Eyes in the head, the man fell back against the wall. Sam drove the end into the mask like a spear. The mask shattered, the man's face along with it and he dropped to the floor with a sick _thud. _Sam turned and ran for the door.

He opened it and moved as quickly down the hall as he could and still keep relatively quiet. He was hoping the others would think the sounds from his former prison were Red Eyes torturing him. Sam reached the stairs. He could hear voices chanting. _No, hang on, Dean. I'm coming. _He moved so quickly, and was so focused on what he was doing, it seemed like one second he was waiting at the steps and the next he was standing in the door to the altar room. His heart was pounding as he took in the situation. Dean on the altar, men holding him down. The thing wasn't there yet.

The screech of tires pulled his attention momentarily from the scene on the altar. Bobby, Dirk and Ronny were getting out of a car and racing towards the house.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted. His brother's head come up for a moment, Sam thought he saw Dean's mouth form the word _Sam_, before he pulled his arms free from the masked men holding him and rolled off the altar. Sam ran, shoving people aside in his mad dash to get to Dean. The thing was suddenly there, moving across the platform towards Dean.

"No," Dean's voice was clear to Sam, even among the other shouts. "No." Dean was on his feet, trying to shake the hands holding him off. Sam swung his club, it hit one of the men in the side of the head, he let go of Dean and Sam saw his brother rush through the curtains, the thing behind him, leaving a trail of blackened bloody slime on the floor as it chased after Dean.

"I'm coming, Dean!" Sam shouted, then stabbed forward with the metal. It hit one of the other masked men in the chest, Sam felt the man's ribs give way and he dropped to the floor clutching the bloody wound in his chest. Sam swung again, another man was down, his neck at an odd angle.

"Sam!" Bobby called.

"Keep them off me, destroy the altar. I'm going after Dean," Sam said without a backwards glance and raced through the curtains.

He followed the slimy trail through the house. Two men in masks tried to block his way out the door. One of them threw something, Sam felt it impact his body. He looked down, a gold-handled knife was sticking out of his side. He pulled it out and shifted it to his left hand, then dove at them, swinging the bedpost like a sword, stabbing forward with the knife. The blade hit one man in the throat, he screamed as blood gurgled out the wound, as he dropped, Sam swung the metal club, it impacted the second man's head, his mask breaking apart with the blow. Sam checked to make sure they wouldn't be getting up, and ran out the door

He stopped.

The thing was in the center of the yard, in front of another altar covered with flowers. Dean stood between the thing and the flower-strewn table. Dean was sobbing, the thing was running something that might be a hand over Dean's face.

"Dean!"

"No," Dean said. "No." He was breathing hard, Sam could see each gasping breath as Dean stood there. The thing was slowly entering Dean's body through the seeping wound in his chest. "No."

A huge hummingbird suddenly appeared, seemingly out of thin air, diving at Sam. Its beak drove into his shoulder like a needle, sending an agonizing shaft of pain through his body. Sam struck out with his club. He missed. It dove again and this time he connected. The creature dropped to the ground. Sam stabbed the end of the metal post into its body. The hummingbird exploded in a wave of bloody smoke, a near human scream filling the yard.

The thing roared.

"NO!" Dean screamed, and reached out, sinking his hands into the writhing mass of the thing. His brother was screaming in pain as Sam raced towards where his brother was fighting off the god. "The altar," Dean gasped out.

Sam ran to the table and turned it over, the flowers scattered. He spotted a curved obsidian knife and a jade bowl that had tumbled from the altar. He shattered the bowl and picked up the knife, hoping he was guessing right.

Dean was screaming.

Sam turned to his brother. The thing no longer had any part of itself in Dean, his brother was fighting it off somehow. Sam swung his club, it connected with it and a shockwave of pain drove him to his knees, he grabbed at his chest, his heart felt like it was ripping from his body. "Dean," he gasped out and threw the obsidian knife towards his brother.

Dean caught it and drove it into the middle of the things mass. It screamed in rage, one part of it lashing out at Dean. Sam saw the blow open a slash in Dean's chest, over his heart. Dean was screaming in pain and defiance as he pulled the knife from the thing, it was dripping with the blackened blood. "Break," was all he said, dropping it on the ground. Sam didn't need anything else, he brought the metal down on the knife again and again, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

The thing roared again, this time in pain. It stumbled back from Dean and something ripped out of its chest. The thing's heart was huge as it hung in the air, blackened blood dripping from it—it pulsed for several beats and exploded before their eyes. The thing dropped down, its body consumed in a ball of fire, brighter than the sun streaming into the garden.

Dean dropped lifelessly to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam crawled to his brother and turned him over, lifting him up so he was propped against Sam's leg. "Dean? Oh god." His brother was bleeding from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth, the wound the thing had made in his chest exposed the white edge of a rib. "Dean?" Sam said again, tears running over his face.

Dean's eyes opened. "You?" he whispered.

"I'm okay, Dean."

"Me, too, Sammy, I'm okay, too," he said, his eyes closed again and his head dropped against Sam.

"Dean!" Sam shook him. He looked up, Bobby and CJ were coming down the stair towards him. "Help Dean," Sam said, everything going dark at the edges. "Help…" His body finally gave out, the rage was gone, the grief back, even though he could still hear Dean's gasping breaths. "Dean?" he said again. He felt Bobby's hands on his shoulders and heard the older hunter's anxious voice. Sam tried to focus on Dean, but it was all too much, and he pitched forward into darkness.

_**To Be Continued**_


	13. Forebear, He Lives!

_A/N: I've backed this chapter up a little so we can have Dean's point of view for the final battle with the thing. _

_A/N II: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing, your support has made this story wonderful! I would especially like to thank TraSan for lots of wonderful help with this chapter and poking me to find the words for what I really meant to say. Thanks to Abni, Manavie and PADavis for handholding throughout!_

**In Darkness Let Me Dwell**

**Chapter Twelve**

_**Forebear, he lives!**_

_Man is not flesh but soul, all life is fame.  
That is true fame which living men enjoy;  
That is true life which death cannot destroy_

Something like awareness slowly returned as he was dragged down the hall. The men carrying him paused and a door opened. He was dropped onto the floor and the door shut. He lay on his side, wishing death would find him there, finally, and let him escape.

"Dean!" a voice said, he thought it was familiar. He heard someone moving, then gentle hands turned him over. "Oh, god," the voice whispered. He was lifted and held against a warm body. "Dean? Dean?" the voice was desperate, he opened his eyes. That one—the one who saved him—Sam—was holding him. "Dean?" that one said again. He turned his face into that one—Sam's—shoulder and wrapped a hand around his arm. "Dean, are you there?" the one who saved him asked with a sob.

He tried to make a sound, a whimper escaped his lips before the pain started.

Sam dropped his head so his cheek was resting against his hair. "Hang on, I'll get us out of here, I promise," that one said softly.

"Mfph," he tried to answer, Sam's words didn't make sense, but there was something in the tone that made him want to answer.

"Oh, god, Dean," Sam said, beginning to rock back and forth as he cried.

"Mfph," he said, whimpering. It was as close as he could get to tears without the searing agony that speech caused. He had lost his home and so had the one who saved him—Sam—and now they would die here in this place. He wished he could comfort the one who saved him, but all he could do was let the gentle rocking motion comfort him. He drifted there in something almost like safety for a long time, listening to that one's voice. That one had started talking as his tears eased, the sound of a human voice comforting in that dark place.

"I have a plan to get us out of here," Sam said quietly. "It's not a great plan, but it's a plan. Just hang on a little longer, Dean, please. We'll get out. I promise."

Suddenly the thing touched him, the soft wisp of itself, letting him know he was needed again. He whimpered, the pain searing through his body, and tried to hide against that one. Sam's arms tightened in response to his soft moan.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. Heavy footsteps came from the hall, each impact jarring through his body. "Okay, Dean, I'm going to set you down. This is part of the plan, I'll get us out, or I'll keep the other promise. Trust me, Dean. I'm here. Trust me." That one pulled him tight against him for a moment then set him gently on the floor. "Trust me," that one—Sam—said again. The word _trust _meant something. He trusted the one who saved him.

The door slammed open. "Take the Nameless One," the priest in the red-eyed mask said. Two more men came into the room. They picked him up from where Sam had set him and dragged him up. Pain ran through his body.

"Hang on, Dean," that one called. He heard Sam say something to the one with red eyes, and the harsh answer, the words making no sense at all. "Trust me, Dean!" Sam shouted. It was the last thing he heard before the sound of a slamming door.

He was carried to the altar and placed on it. Flowers were put on his body and his mouth wrenched open. A foul-tasting paste was smeared on his tongue. The drug ran through his system quickly, the last slivers of himself, the person who the thing consumed, was screaming, locked somewhere deep inside. This was the worst horror, the second, third and times after. The pain was so much worse. The removal of the tiny bits of himself that were left so much more exacting. The thing took such pleasure in prolonging the pain, the excising of all he was.

Blood was poured in his mouth and over his body. Men came and held his arms and legs. It was symbolic at this point, they knew he wouldn't fight these final violations that would lead the god to power. It was his destiny.

A flitting wisp of awareness crept through him. A part of himself waking up, the drug let this happen so the thing could revel in the taking again and again, until there was nothing left but a shell and it could celebrate with the final act of his death.

"DEAN!" the shout cut through the chanting.

He lifted his head. That one stood in the door, his face wild, a bloody club in his hand.

That one—the one who saved him—Sam. Sam…_Sam_… _Sammy! _

Dean looked at his brother, met his eyes. "Sam?" he said soundlessly. _He's alive! He's alive! _Dean dropped his head, the men holding him had relaxed their grip, waiting for the thing to appear. He pulled himself free and rolled off the altar. "No," he said as they tried to grab him. "No." _It doesn't get me. No. _He forced himself onto his feet and pulled away from the hands trying to hold him. He ran through the curtain at the back of the room and through the house. _I have to get to the second altar. _How he knew that, he wasn't sure, it might be a piece of memory the thing had left in him. He passed the guards in the kitchen, they recognized him as one of the Nameless and let him by.

Dean ran into the yard towards the altar covered with flowers. When he got to the table, he reached out for the jade bowl, to smash it on the ground. Something dove at him. He looked up, the hummingbird hovered in front of him for a moment, then disappeared.

He felt the thing behind him.

The bowl had to be destroyed. He needed the curved obsidian knife that lay nestled in the flowers. How he would kill the hummingbird, he had no idea, but he knew it had to be done.

The god touched him. Dean willed his body to not respond, but it did. The drugs still in his system compelled his body to obey. He bit back a sob as he turned. It stood before him, the writhing mass of it, death scented, reaching out for him. It ran a hand over his face, slowly touching his eyes, his cheek, his lips. One finger-like appendage touched his ear, Dean felt the stab of pain as it gently probed his mind. He could hear himself sobbing as it slowly explored him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from the stairs.

"No," Dean said, looking at it. "No." He tried to take a deep breath, it was getting harder and harder to breathe, each gasp a huge wave of pain. Dean could see Sam coming down the stairs when he felt the touch on the wound at the base of his sternum. It was sliding into him again, that slow inching movement, the pain throbbing through his body as it began its violation. "No," he said, trying to fight it. At the edge of his awareness he saw Sam fighting the hummingbird. Dean closed his eyes, so the thing wouldn't sense what was happening before it was too late.

Something that sounded like a human scream filled his ears and the thing was roaring in rage. Pain suddenly exploded through it, slamming into his body. Dean opened his eyes, the hummingbird was gone, Sam racing across the lawn towards the altar.

It wanted Sam—wanted to end the creature that had killed part of itself. Rage pulsed through it, through Dean. "NO!" Dean screamed and reached out for the thing, to what he hoped was its throat. Agony lanced through him, he screamed in pain. "The altar!" he called, hoping Sam would understand.

The pain was increasing, Dean could see a black ring on the edge of his vision. He had no idea how much longer he could hold on. His throat was raw from screaming, he couldn't stop. _YOU CANNOT HAVE ME! _It was slowly withdrawing. _YOU CANNOT HAVE ME! _It slid out of him, the pain pulsing up his arms now white-hot and slowly destroying him. He felt the impact as Sam hit the thing. It reached out with the invisible part of itself and drove Sam to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam drop, grabbing his chest. _No!_

"Dean," Sam gasped out and lifted his hand. He was holding the obsidian knife. Sam tossed it to him.

Dean caught it and drove it into the middle of the things mass. It screamed in rage as the knife plunged through its flesh, stopping in the beating mass of its heart. It lashed out at him. Dean felt the blow open the skin over his heart. _Doesn't hurt, that's bad. _He took a deep breath and pulled the knife from the thing's body. He dropped it on the ground "Break," was all he could manage, the words ripping through his body like the slashing blow of the thing. Sam brought his club down on the knife, smashing it apart.

The thing roared again, this time in pain. It stumbled back from Dean and something ripped out of its chest. The thing's heart was huge as it hung in the air, blackened blood dripping from it—it pulsed for several beats and exploded before his eyes.

It was dead.

The thing dropped down, its body consumed in a ball of fire, brighter than the sun streaming into the garden. The heat from the fire burned through Dean, racing through his body, increasing the agony to the point of no return. All that had kept him going was suddenly gone. He dropped to the ground, trying to hold on to consciousness, to life, long enough to make sure Sam was okay.

"Dean!" Sam said, Dean was turned over and Sam lifted him up, propping him against a shaking leg. "Dean? Oh god. Dean?" Sam said again, Dean could hear tears in his brother's voice.

Dean's eyes opened, Sam's face was covered in blood. There was a bloody wound in Sam's shoulder. Dean took it all in. _I think I'm dying Sammy, but it's okay, the thing is dead, it's gone. We killed it. Are you okay, Sam? _He wanted to say all that, what came out was, "you?"

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, almost sobbing

Dean knew he needed to let Sam know. "Me, too, Sammy," he said, hoping his brother would understand, wanting him to know what that meant. "I'm okay, too." Try as he might to keep his eyes open, they closed, his body relaxed and his head dropped against Sam. That one, the one who saved him. Sammy. Dean sighed.

"Dean!" He felt Sam shaking him, but awareness was quickly fading, replaced by a gentle darkness, soft like the touch of velvet or a soft summer night. He let himself sink into that void, until even the pain was gone, and there was nothing.

The dark velvet shifted a little, sounds crept into the void. Dean drifted there, trying to get a sense of where he was, what was happening. The awareness of pain was there, but so far removed from him that it was just a tiny point. Worry made its way in. _Sam_. He tried to struggle up through the dark and heard a small sound, a soft groan that sounded like "Mfph."

"Dean?" Bobby's voice said softly.

"He shouldn't be awake yet, Bobby," that sounded like CJ.

"I'm sure I heard him, I think he moved, too," Bobby answered.

"He shouldn't be awake yet. He needs more time to recover."

Dean heard movement. _No, I need to know about Sam. _He heard the "Mfph," again.

"Dean? You're safe, at the clinic, the thing is dead, you're safe," Bobby said. Dean felt a hand on his arm. "Sam's okay, Dean. He's asleep, but he's okay."

Dean felt something warm in his arm and relaxed. _Sam's okay. _He let the drugs carry him back into the void.

"He woke up," a voice drifted down to him.

"He did?" Sam's voice answered. _Good Sammy, you're up. _

"I think he imprinted on me, he's sleeping now. Do you think he'll come back? Like Dean did?"

"I don't know, Ronny, we'll ask Dean when he wakes up," Sam's voice suddenly sounded rough.

"How's he doing?" Ronny asked softly. There was a long pause. "Sam?"

"I'm not sure. Bobby said he woke up yesterday a little, they sedated him again. He woke up about four hours ago…" Everything was fading again, Dean tried to hang on to hear what Sam was saying.

"Sam?"

"He… He was… The victim again, Ronny," Sam said quietly.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. What will you do?"

"What do you think?" Sam answered, the dark was pulling Dean away again, he wanted to hear what Sam had to say, but he couldn't stay focus long enough to find out.

The next time the dark moved aside, Dean was more aware of pain. It ached with a throbbing pulse in time with his heart, it still wasn't true pain, more the soft beat of something that would become pain. The thing he noticed most was the warmth resting on his hand. He pushed himself up through the cottony softness of the drugs and finally managed to get his left eye to open. The right stayed firmly shut, but the left opened. Dean turned his head a little, Sam was sitting beside the bed, a book open on his lap "Hey," Dean said, or tried to, his throat was so dry it was hard to get anything out. It sounded more like a groan.

"Dean?" Sam's head snapped up.

"Hey," Dean tried again. It came out as a little "Mfph." He swallowed.

"Hang on." Sam picked up a cup off the tray beside the bed, lifted Dean's head a little and poked a straw into his mouth. "Just a sip at first, okay?" Sam said.

Dean nodded and took a sip of the ice water. It soothed his dry throat. He waited a second, then took another careful sip. Sam pulled the straw away. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure," Sam said, putting the cup down. He turned back to Dean. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam let out a slow breath. "Hey, man."

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking at his brother. Sam's shoulder had a heavy bandage on it and he was moving a little slow.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine," Sam said with a smile.

"Shoulder?" Dean frowned, it was getting hard to focus.

"The hummingbird attacked me."

"Hummingbird?" Dean couldn't stop the smile. He knew what the thing was, what it was capable of, but at that moment the image of his giant of a brother being taken down by a hummingbird made him smile. _It's the drugs, has to be. _

"Shut up." Sam grinned. "It was a big hummingbird."

"Sleepy."

"Sleep, it's okay, I'll be here. CJ said you'd be in and out for awhile."

"Okay." Dean closed his eye and reached out for Sam, he felt Sam's hand close over his as he dropped off to sleep.

He woke up sometime later, Sam gave him a little more water and they spoke for a minute before Dean went back to sleep. The next time he surfaced he didn't make it all the way up, he listened to the conversation between Sam and Bobby, then dropped off. The pattern continued for a long time. Sometimes, he would wake up far enough to talk to Sam, sometimes he just listened to what was going on around him. Each span of consciousness was lasting a little longer than the one before, except for one long pause. When he briefly surfaced, he worried about that pause. _What's wrong? _The thought carried him into sleep.

"It was almost eight hours before he went back to sleep, Sam," Bobby was saying as Dean woke up. He opened his left eye and made an attempt at the right, to his surprise it opened. He blinked several times, then turned his head in the direction of the older hunter's voice. Bobby, Sam and Ronny were standing in the door to the room.

"I know, Bobby," Sam said, defeat written in the way he was standing, despair in his tone.

"Sam," Bobby put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Eight hours, Sam, he's not coming back. You…"

"No, not yet," Sam said desperately.

"Sam?" Ronny said quietly. "He's awake."

"Thanks, I'll talk to you later." Bobby and Ronny left, Sam stayed with his back to Dean for a moment longer, then with a deep breath, turned around with a smile. Tear tracks stained his face. He walked over to the bed and picked up the cup of water. "Here you go, Dean."

"What's wrong?"

Sam stared at him, the cup slipped from his hand, Dean heard the splash of ice as the contents spilled. "Dean?"

"What's wrong?" Dean said, panic rushing through his body.

"Dean?" Sam said again, he suddenly dropped onto the bed, like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore. He put his head in his hands.

"Sam? What?" Dean tapped his brother's knee.

"You were… Gone, the victim again, like you were when I first found you."

"What? No." _Oh, god, no. _"How long?" Dean whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"Most of yesterday, I… You…" Sam looked up.

"No, why is it still happening?" Dean said. "I thought once it was dead…"

"It is dead?" Sam asked, tears were running over his face.

"Yeah. Sammy…" Dean reached out for his brother, fisting his hand in Sam's shirt and pulling himself up. Sam's arms went around him with a soft sob. Dean leaned into Sam. "I don't want…" _I don't want to lose myself to that thing, please, Sammy. _Dean couldn't get the words out, but Sam's arms tightened around him and the tears running over Dean's face turned into sobs.

"I won't let it happen, Dean, I promise," Sam said around his own tears. Dean nodded against Sam's shoulder. "I won't," he said again. A stray memory flitted in, at first it didn't feel like his own. Sam holding him in that dark place, that sense of safety as Sam spoke to him. With the next breath everything rushed back, all the memories, his, the Nameless One he'd become, all of them. He gasped, pain running through his body. "Dean?" Sam pulled away a little.

"No." Dean leaned against him as the memories threatened to drown him, to pull him away forever.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said softly. "Hang on."

Dean nodded, trying to stay afloat in the sea of images. He suddenly understood why it was happening, why he was still losing himself. He had to face what had happened to him, to acknowledge the memories that were his from the time in that dark place. Pain filled him as the he let the memories out of where they were hiding. "Oh, god, Sam," he said, holding on to Sam's shirt like it was the only thing keeping him there. The tears that had started several days before at their house finally were acknowledged completely. He gave himself over to it and wept, clinging to Sam. He knew his brother was crying as well, heard Sam's soft words of encouragement.

An eternity later, struggling to control the tears, but unable to, he felt Sam's hand on his head. "I called CJ, Dean, she's on her way." A few minutes later, Sam said, "Dean, hold can you hold your left hand out?" Dean obeyed and felt the touch of CJ's hand and warmth flowed up his arm. "Good."

Dean stayed where he was as the drug relaxed him, letting the sobs slowly ease into hiccups, then into just soft breaths. He listened to the sound of Sam's heart, the memory of Sam being sacrificed suddenly before his eyes. Dean swallowed hard and let the memory drift away. Finally, he pushed away from Sam and lay back in the bed, reaching for Sam's hand. Pretending he didn't need the contact seemed silly at this point. "You look like shit," he said thickly, the drug making it a little hard to talk.

"Luckily, you look great," Sam said with a damp smile.

"I always do." Dean's eyes closed. "Might need to sleep."

"Go ahead, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam put his free and on Dean's forehead. "Anytime." Dean started to nod, but was asleep before he could finish.

The smell of coffee woke him. Dean opened his eyes and blinked in the sunlit room. "Sam?"

"Right here, Dean," Sam said. Dean turned his head, his brother was lying in the bed on the other side of the room. "How do you feel?"

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, poking the button to raise the bed.

"Yeah, just woke up. It's about six thirty in the morning." Sam swung his legs off the bed, grabbed the coffee pot and walked over to Dean. He poured Dean a cup of coffee and put the pot on the tray before sitting on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked again.

"I'm okay," Dean said, sipping his coffee. Sam frowned at him. "I'm better, Sam. Even the pain is better today."

"Good." Sam smiled.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam paused. "I am. CJ says I'm healing, the hummingbird wound isn't infected and the stab wound…" He stopped, a flush running up his face.

"Stab wound? Sammy?"

"It's just a flesh wound, Dean, the guys in the kitchen, one of them had a knife."

"Tell me, Sam," Dean said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup and peering over the rim at his brother. It was his best "confess, Sammy" look. It always worked.

"I knew I needed to get out to you, Dean, they were in the way." There was a lot in that quiet statement. The memory of Sam's face spattered with blood played in front of Dean's eyes. "That's all," Sam finished with a shrug.

"Sam?"

"Fine." Sam sighed. "After I woke up in the room, I knew I'd need to get us out of there. I got one of the legs off the bed. When they came and took you again, I knew I need to follow you." Sam's eyes were dark, begging Dean to understand.

"And?"

"And I did," Sam said softly and looked away.

"I understand," Dean said, putting his hand on Sam's knee. He did, he knew what he'd do to get to Sam, to save Sam, he had no doubt Sam would do the same. Sometimes it concerned him, knowing what his quiet brother was capable of if Dean's life was on the line. Sometimes… Other times he took comfort in it.

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath.

"What was it?" Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

"The thing?"

"Yes. I know there were three parts, the knife, the hummingbird and the thing. The thing that took me was the biggest part of the three."

"Yeah, I think so." Sam got up and grabbed his laptop, he powered it up. "When I saw the effigy, I finally started figuring it out, once I saw the ritual when it… When…" Sam swallowed.

"I'm sorry you saw that."

"I was pretty sure then, Ronny's research confirmed it."

"Sam? What was it?"

"A god, Dean. Here, look." Sam turned the laptop around, a clay figure was on the screen. Dean ground his teeth together as he looked at it. It was a human figure with something else inside of it, two sets of lips, fingers trailing below the hand. "Familiar?"

"Yeah."

"For years archaeologists thought it was a priest wearing the skin of a sacrificial victim."

"It wasn't, it was the god wearing a human, like it wore me."

"Yeah. Xipe Totec, the flayed god. They thought the hummingbird and the knife were other gods, but I think they were aspects of this one, or at least connected somehow."

"Connected," Dean said, sorting through memories. "That final joining with me would have linked them more closely so the thing would have more power. So it could move without its initiates, it could take people without the ritual." Dean was quiet, thinking about what had happened.

"Are you sure it's dead?"

"I'm sure, Sam. I felt it die. Once the hummingbird was gone, it was weak. When I stabbed it and you destroyed the knife—it was broken apart and died."

"Good."

"That should help the other victims." Dean frowned. "How's Nick?"

"He woke up a few days ago, imprinted on Ronny." Sam smiled. "He started talking a little late last night."

"I want to see him," Dean said, looking at his brother, Sam was frowning at him. "I'll be okay, Sam."

"I'm not sure, Dean."

"I might be able to help him a little, Sammy."

"If CJ says it's okay. Deal?"

"Deal."

They headed down the hallway towards Nick's room late that afternoon. Dean had fallen asleep after breakfast, when he woke up, Sam helped him into the shower, and by the time CJ gave him the go ahead, it was almost four. Dean walked slowly down the corridor, weeks of starvation and forced drug use had taken a huge toll on his body. He had to stop several times to lean against the wall and catch his breath. Sam was hovering behind him the whole way, the temptation to growl at his brother was getting the upper hand when they reached the door to Nick's room. Dean tapped on the door and pushed it open.

Nick was propped up on the bed, Ronny sitting beside him. "Dean?"

"Hey." Dean walked over to the bed and took Nick's outstretched hand.

"You made it," Nick said quietly.

"You, too."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I wanted to there for awhile."

"I know," Dean answered, aware of Sam standing behind him. "I wasn't either." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sam? Can you and Ronny go get us some coffee?"

"Nick?" Ronny asked, standing.

"I'll be okay, Ronny, you need a break anyway," Nick said with a smile.

"Alright, we'll be right back," Ronny said, he and Sam left the room, leaving the door open.

"How are you?" Dean asked, once his brother and Ronny had gone.

"Surviving," Nick said quietly. "You?"

"Surviving," Dean sighed. "Maybe a little more than that. Killing it helped."

"I bet. At least you got to kill it."

"I killed it for all of us, Nick."

"I know. Ronny is Randy's brother."

"Yep."

"What are you going to do, Dean? We still have a long road ahead of us."

"I know. Sam and I were talking, we're going to stay in town and hunt around here for awhile, until I'm a little stronger."

"Hunting? Ronny and I were talking about that, too, maybe when I'm stronger work with CJ or Bobby a little until we get our feet under us."

"Killing evil things helps."

"Does Sam know?"

"Know?"

"What happened? How long it still might take?" Nick asked.

"He was there for a ritual. I think he knows, I blanked out a couple of times, returned to the Nameless One."

"I'm terrified of that happening, Dean."

"I am too, Nick, but if it does, and we can't get you back, I'll keep the promise I made."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Thank you." Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam and Ronny came back in the room. "They don't trust us alone for long," he said with a half-hearted wink.

"Probably afraid we'll ditch them and get pizza."

"No pizza for you, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk. Sam stood beside Dean and the four of the talked until Dean's eyes started to droop. Dean gave Nick's hand a final squeeze and let Sam help him back to the room.

"What were you talking about?" Sam asked, from the way he said it, Dean suspected his brother had heard everything.

"What happened."

"Dean, I didn't go through that, I know, but…" Sam frowned. "You know you can talk to me about it? I'll understand."

"I know, Sam," Dean said, lying back on the bed. He reached out for Sam's hand and felt his brother's close over his. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I know."

**Epilogue**

Dean smiled as Sam pulled the Impala into the driveway at their house. He got out of the car and waited while his brother opened the door, then walked in, enjoying the sense of safety, of home the small house brought him. A joyful bark sounded from the backyard. Dean walked quickly through the house and out the back door. Harry wriggled through the fence and bounded over to Dean, his whole body wagging happily.

"Dean! Welcome home!" Jason said from the other side of the fence. "Harry, behave, don't bowl him over."

"It's okay, Jason," Dean said as he patted the dog. He walked over to the fence, Harry followed him, then leaned against him. Dean leaned back. "Thank you." Dean stopped at a loss for words, the dog had been such an important part of his recovery, he was unsure how to say thank you.

"He's a special dog," Jason said with a wink. "Always has been."

"Thank you," Sam said, coming up beside Dean. Harry lapped at Sam's hand then looked up at Dean for approval when Sam made a face.

"Good job," Dean patted the dog's head.

"I have more tomatoes for you. The Brandywines are ripe." Jason handed Sam a bag. "Harry really likes them so be careful. I suppose you want to have a sleepover tonight?" Jason said to the dog. Harry wagged his tail. "Just behave yourself."

"Thank you," Dean said again. He swayed a little on his feet. "I better sit down." He walked slowly over to the chairs and sat down, watching his brother and Jason talking quietly over the fence. Harry sat beside Dean, his head over Dean's legs. "Thank you, too, Harry," Dean said softly. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet scents of the garden. The buzz of a bumble bee caused his heart to speed up a little. He listened to it, trying not to panic.

"You want a beer?" Sam asked. Dean opened his eyes. "Or something else?"

"A beer sounds good, Sammy."

Sam walked into the house and came back out with two beers, he opened them and handed one to Dean, then dragged one of the chairs over beside Dean and sat down. Dean leaned against Sam, still needing the contact. That Sam knew and didn't mention it meant a lot. "We'll go see Nick in the morning."

"Thanks. Ronny said he'd take him home in a few days."

"Yeah, he was talking to me about that." Sam took a drink. "How are you?"

"A little tired, but I'm okay," Dean said, looking at his brother, Sam met his eyes and nodded. Dean sighed and looked out at the flowers blooming along the fence, aware of the warmth of Sam's shoulder against his and Harry's heavy head on his leg. He'd just lied to Sam, he was pretty sure his brother knew it, too.

He wasn't okay.

Dean let a little more weight settle against Sam. He sighed. He wasn't okay, but with a little time he would be. Dean smiled, it was the first really heart-felt smile in a long time. _Yeah, with a little time I will be. _

_**The End**_


End file.
